


i built a home for you, for me (held on as tightly as you held onto me)

by coat



Category: The 100 (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Homeless, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Artist Clarke, Astrophysicist Lexa, CEO Lexa, Dogs, F/F, Guilt, Homelessness, Med Student Dropout Clarke, Minor Violence, Phone Calls & Telephones, Rich Lexa, San Francisco, teenage runaway, young professionals
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-04-30
Updated: 2015-05-19
Packaged: 2018-03-26 11:48:20
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 37,627
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3849820
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/coat/pseuds/coat
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>As Lexa walks past, giving the dog a wide berth, she spots a figure beside it. A girl with braided blonde hair stretches out on the park bench, fingers tangled in the dog’s thick fur. She frowns softly. Usually the homeless people Lexa sees are older males with scruffy beards, tugging shopping carts filled with cans. But this girl on the bench, her golden hair streaming over her back, looks so out of place that Lexa almost stops. Most homeless tend to stay near the city, yet here she is, in the middle of the forest.</p><p>Or: In which Lexa takes in two strays, but it's really herself that's saved in the process. </p><p>[COMPLETE!]</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Come talk to me on Tumblr! My url is [clarkelionheart](http://clarkelionheart.tumblr.com/)  
> Comments are very appreciated, thank you all! (:

Lexa hisses as, once again, her mobile buzzes. It is across the room, ringing obnoxiously on her granite countertop. She has been receiving nonstop calls for ‘surveys’ recently, but they only wanted her personal information and weren’t getting the ‘fuck off’ memo. Who does business calls at - she checks the oven clock - 7:20 pm on a Thursday night, anyway? No one worth her time.

She swirls wine around in her glass, the dark burgundy liquid sloshing against the edges. It had been ridiculously expensive, but she can afford it; and really, what else would she do with her nights if not drinking fancy alcohol, alone, on her couch?

She shifts, rising to pick up the blaring phone.

“Leave me the fuck alone, I’m not taking your survey. You have the audacity to call someone at this hour? It’s completely unprofessional. For the last time, stop calling this number.”

The line at the other end crackles and a thin voice emerges from the static.

“Umm, I guess I got the wrong number. I - I’m so sorry.”

Guilt floods through her: she literally just yelled at some random person.

“No, shit, I’m sorry. It’s been a long day,” Lexa laughs dryly, scrubbing a hand over her face. She senses, rather then hears, an empty chuckle on the other line.

“Yeah, tell me about it.”

Lexa has no idea what compels her to continue. She should hang up, let this poor person get on with their life. But maybe Lexa’s lonely, deep down. She had everything she's ever wanted; a spacious loft in the financial district of San Fransisco and is the young CEO for an up and coming company. She worked to be here, drinking fancy wine while watching the bay bridge twinkle outside a giant wall-sized window. But after Costia, she had never again opened up to people. But tonight, Lexa looked around her dimly lit apartment. So pristine. Devoid of emotion. It looked as if no one even lived her, let alone for over 6 months.

Maybe it was for these reasons, or a combination thereof, that Lexa doesn’t end the call. Instead, she speaks into the heavy silence on the other end: “So, what’s your name?”

A pause. For a moment, Lexa thinks that she hung up. The thought saddens her immensely until she receives a reply. “Clarke. And yourself, stranger?”

“Lexa,” then, as it hits her, “Am I keeping you from something? Didn’t you have to talk before you called this number instead?”

“Oh, no,” the girl, Clarke, hurriedly replies. “I didn’t. Well. The number was disconnected, I guess. I mean,” Lexa hears crackling on the other end of the line “It’s been years, so.” She gives a dry laugh.

“Why would you call a number after so much time?” As soon as the words leave her mouth, Lexa chastises her for the bluntness. Great, now you might've scared off the only person willing to talk to you.

Not that Lexa really cares. There’s a reason she has so completely detached herself form the world, ever since Costia. Maybe she gets lonely. Her coworkers, especially the younger interns, always greet her with enthusiastic smiles. She appreciates the sediment, even if her answering nod is not quite the same magnitude. At least they care enough to make an effort, even if she realizes it’s probably only because they want a raise.

She realizes the other girl has still not replied. Again, she worries that she has overstepped. Lexa has to remind herself that she doesn’t care, and it’s just some random person. She can’t develop any emotional attachment. That would be stupid.

“Well,” the voice is hesitant, and Lexa picks up on her unwillingness immediately. It’s a feeling she gets every day.

“No, no need to explain. I apologize for being blunt-”

“It’s the only number I have memorized.”

The honesty cuts Lexa off mid sentence. She takes a moment to register the words, weighing the meaning. She listens to the noise through Clarke’s end of the line. She swears she hears a horn honk, and the dull patter of rain. She looks outside briefly; her window is indeed covered in droplets.

“Are you outside?”

“No. I’m not.” It was a lie. Lexa realized that instantly, but didn’t question further.

Clarke must have a reason to be dishonest. It was not Lexa’s place to know. But sometime draws her in; something her about this strange girl, who is obviously calling from a public telephone, intrigues Lexa. The voice speaks again.

“From where do you hail, stranger?”

The joke draws a ghost of a smile to Lexa’s lips. She wonders if it looks like she’s grimacing instead - it had been a long time since she’s smiled.

“Bay Area, born and raised. You?”

“Moved around a lot. College and all.”

She subtly deflects the question, Lexa notes, but she doesn’t push. This girl has no right to tell her anything - hell, she should be thanking her for making the night a bit more entertaining. A small undeniable piece of her wants to keep talking and learn more. She hasn't felt this curious since - since Costia’s death.

“What’s your favorite animal?”

“A wolf,” Lexa replies. A simple question - since she was old enough to talk, that answer had never changed.

“Why?”

Now _that_ , she hadn’t heard before. She pauses, humming softly. The rain batters her windowpane.

“They stand for what they believe in. They are powerful, but independent.”

“No, you’re wrong. Wolves are social animals, like people. They need it.”

Lexa is slightly taken back by the rebuttal. She’s not one to go down without a fight, or admit to what someone else says.

“Then maybe I’m a lone wolf,” she retorts back, tone brisk. It’s the voice she uses at work, to make sure no one questions her and leaves her alone. Clarke doesn’t get the memo, or ignores it.

“The lone wolves always die. They are weakest, without a support system.”

“Maybe they figure out how to survive on their own. Relying on others, love, is weakness.” Lexa realizes she is no longer talking about just wolves, and the conversation has escalated.

They talk, friendly banter. Lexa loses herself in the conversation. It’s easy, she doesn’t have to think much or worry about messing up. When Lexa looks up to check the time, she almost drops her phone in surprise. The clock blinks back at her - 12:43 am.

“Shit,” she curses, chastising herself. She has an important meeting tomorrow at 8:30 am, only a few hours away.

“Hey - Clarke, I’m sorry. I have work super early tomorrow..” she trails off, and hopes she’s not imagining the disappointment in the voice that replies.

“Oh, no worries! Uh.. It was nice talking to you?”

Neither of them knew where to go from here. Lexa had almost forgotten this was some random person calling from a payphone. Who even called from a payphone at this hour? She wondered where she lived, and assumed somewhere far away where it was still daytime. Definitely not somewhere in the city.

“I enjoyed our conversation. Maybe we can talk another time?”

“Of course, I’d love to!” the response sounds genuine and brings a rare smile to Lexa’s face. She is already looking forward to talking with Clarke again.

“Goodnight, Clarke.”

“Night, Lexa.”

She hangs up the phone. For a long time, Lexa remains standing in her kitchen.

* * *

 Several hours and countless cups of coffee later, Lexa sits at her large desk and wants to bang her head on the table. She considers it, because who the hell would stop her? No one, because her office is alone at the top floor. She doesn’t mind the quiet, not usually. But today her thoughts keep drifting back to the girl on the phone, and she struggles to concentrate on the new prototype design.

The morning had been a whirlwind of activity. Once again, she questions why they have to start work so early. Really, Lexa adored her job, but couldn’t they make important meetings a bit later in the day? Then again, she’s an extremely young CEO for an aerospace engineering company - she never gets a break. No one ever said Lexa wasn’t ambitious. She knows, deep down, that she would never survive in a normal desk job. She needs more excitement than that.

A knock sounds on her door, and Lexa calls them in without peering through the frosted glass to check.

“Don’t you look fabulous today?”

Lexa looks up immediately, surprised for a moment, before her lip curve into a grin and she jumps from the swivel chair. She’d recognize that voice anywhere.

Anya stands in the doorway, smirk on her face and hip resting against the smooth glass. Her dignified posture breaks slightly when Lexa tackles her in a hug, knocking her back a step. She was Lexa’s much older sister, but the age difference between them had never hindered their friendship.

“Get off me, you ooff!” Anya laughs, ruffling Lexa’s hair.

She smells like sun and her skin is tanned. The uniform fabric is rough against Lexa’s cheek, and she realizes her sister must’ve come straight from the airport to see her. The last letter she had received came weeks ago. It hadn’t mentioned coming home. When they break apart, Lexa feels a flash of worry.

“What’s wrong, Eeyore?”

Of course her sister noticed the twinge of fear. Lexa scoffs at her childhood nickname, given by her family when she was young.

> They had been watching Winnie the Pooh, all huddled on the threadbare couch. Her mother made delicious hot chocolate and they all slowly sipped the scalding liquid, eyes never leaving the screen. They laughed as Pooh and Piglet danced around, meeting up with friends. Lexa had been warm, nestled between her father and sister, despite the storm raging outside. When Eeyore the pessimistic donkey was introduced, Anya immediately turned to Lexa, her voice alight with mischief.
> 
> “Momma! Dad! Look, he’s grumpy just like Lexa!” she exclaimed in a squeaky 8 year old voice. Lexa gave her the harshest glare she could, sticking her chin out. Her parents boomed with laughter for the rest of the movie, and to this day, none of them have let the nickname go.

“Why are you home, Anya? You didn’t mention it in your letters-“

She breaks her younger sister off, laughing. It’s like she’s 5 again, and desperate to prove herself; Lexa feels strongly inadequate with her sister. She’s the only person who makes her feel this way.

“Nothing to worry about. Apparently even the military thinks I don’t take enough time off. I decided to come home and see the family.”

She was right; the last time Anya had come home was for Christmas. It felt like a lifetime ago. The entire family drove to SFO to drop her off. When they hugged goodbye in the airport terminal, Lexa had clung on tight, never wanting to let go. If her eyes were misty, Anya hadn’t mentioned it.

“How’s it going, hot-shot? I hear your companies doing great things,” Anya remarks, spinning around in Lexa’s swivel chair. It felt like they were teenagers again, attempting to do homework in their father’s office. He had a rickety old swivel chair that should probably have come with a caution label, but the two of them used to fight over it every day after school.

Lexa adores her parents, but they are nothing like her. Both extroverts, party animals, always joking about something. They used to say they picked up the wrong child in the hospital, because no way grouchy Lexa could be their baby. Both of her parents came from humble backgrounds, but Lexa always had a support system and people who loved her. Her mother was a kindergarten teacher - a brilliant woman, she could've been anything she set her mind to, but she only wanted to teach kids. For the millionth time, Lexa wonders how hardworking teachers got paid so little. She knew her mom did as much work, or more, as she did.

Her father is a lawyer, but not the rich kind. He only takes cases for people who could not afford a lawyer, and therefore is paid significantly less. Lexa is proud of both her parents, and she couldn't have asked for better role models. She always knew money was an issue, and that drove her to become as successful as she could. All the money that doesn’t go towards her food and rent is given to her family.

Anya had been like a mentor growing up, especially with things she couldn't tell her parents. She vividly remembers the time Roddy kissed her behind the shed in his backyard, and how wrong it felt when he held her hand. That night, Anya and Lexa threw all their combined blankets on the floor and pretended it was under the stars. She read her a book on space until Lexa fell asleep. Anya had comforted a scared, teenage Lexa when she got scared of the way she felt around Costia. Her sister was the first person she came to when Costia kissed her in the locker room in 11th grade, and everything seemed to slot into place.

She was also the first person Lexa ran to after Costia -

She couldn't let herself think about that.

Pushing the thoughts out of her mind, Lexa looks back to Anya. Her sister quirks an eyebrow at her, knowing something is on her mind.

“Company’s going well. We have a new mechanic, Raven. She’s actually more of an intern, currently finishing up graduate school at Cal. You’d like her, I think. How’s the military treating you?”

Anya laughs, and Lexa had almost forgotten how much she missed it.

“Everything’s good. It’s rough, being stationed far away.”

Lexa knows exactly how she feels. When she went away to MIT for graduate school, on a practically full ride, she had hated being so far. But she needed a change - she had grown up in the bay area and went to college at Berkeley so she could live at home. And so you could stay with Costia, a small part of her whispers. But the city she called home had became claustrophobic. Lexa knew she needed a change of scenery away from her memories, but deep down, she knew she could never stray far from her parents. Neither could Anya, and Lexa knew it took a toll on her to be away so long. What could she say, the Heda’s were a family oriented bunch.

“Hey, wanna grab something to eat?” Lexa asks, gesturing towards the door. “My treat.”

“I thought you’d never ask,” she replies, abandoning the chair and walking to the elevator.

Lexa sighs, grabbing her coat and keys before racing after her sister. She can afford to take the rest of the day off.

 

In the excitement of Anya’s arrival, and the subsequent dinner at their parents house, Lexa had forgotten the mysterious phone call from the night before. Now, as she waits for the apartment elevator, she remembers Clarke’s upbeat voice. It’s Friday night, and Lexa doubts she will hear from the girl, tonight or ever again. Still, she had appreciated the talk. She doesn’t have many friends. Not anymore.

The phone doesn’t ring that night, though Lexa stays up waiting longer than she wants to admit.

* * *

 Lexa leaves her loft early Saturday morning, stopping only to get coffee at a new cafe. The streets of San Francisco are always busy, even this early on a weekend, and she navigates her sleek black Lexus through the congested streets. The car was a gift to herself after she was promoted to CEO, but she uses it so rarely that it wasn’t really worth the price. She Skyped Anya the day she bought the car, and her sister had persuaded her to name it. Lexa, frankly, thought it was absurd to name a hunk of metal, but she eventually caved in. She called it - him - Dante.

Living in the financial district has it’s perks; she can literally walk to work everyday. Lexa knows she doesn’t want to stay in her loft forever, because while proximity to Ark Industries is nice, she wants to live somewhere closer to nature.

Lexa drives until she reaches the Presidio, a beautiful park and ex-military base. She jogs a few blocks to the entrance and continues onto one of the numerous dirt trails.

Lexa ran track all through high school. It was where she met Costia, a girl with ‘big hair and an even bigger personality’, as her mother liked to joke. It wasn’t that far off the mark. Costia was almost always smiling, and though she constantly goofed off in class, she was brilliant and the teachers let is slide. Costia always smelled faintly of bubblegum and cinnamon; an interested combination, but she made it work.

_She could make anything work._

Costia was the Grounders’ star hurdle jumper, while Lexa ran long distance. Fate (or in reality, their coach, Indra) forced them together when they were elected co-captains of the team. They were competitive, with different ideas of how to run the team. It lead to fights, and more.

For a long time after Costia passed, Lexa had stopped running. She missed it; the independence, only her and the trail. Feeling her muscles loosen after several pounding miles, stretching her legs further. But more than anything, she missed Costia next to her, matching stride for stride. Every time she jogged, Lexa longed to hear Costia’s sassy “Lex, lets go get pizza” or “I’m bored, are we done?”. It hurt too much to continue, even though Lexa knew her girlfriend - ex-girlfriend - would have wanted her to keep going. Now that time has passed, Lexa starts long distance again. She started short, jogging around the block, but quickly moves to more challenging runs.

Lexa is soothed by the steady thump of sneakers and her rhythmic breathing. Her legs burn with extension, after a while, but she enjoys the light pain. A constant reminder that she’s alive. The brisk, late summer air reminds her of the coming good weather - autumn is always the most beautiful in the city. She can see her breath in the air, but her constant movement keeps her warm. Her thoughts stray to Clarke once again, but she pushes them away.

_You’re might never get to talk to her again, get over it._

Lexa spots the animal before anything else. Even from 20 feet away, as Lexa bursts from the trees, she notes it’s size and skids to a stop.

_Is that a wolf…?_

It’s huge, paws larger than Lexa’s hands, and towers over the park bench beside it. Lionlike and completely regal, it’s anything but a common stray. It has a thick reddish coat with a golden-brown mane around it’s neck. Eyes the color of whisky peer out from a black face mask, watching Lexa with unnerving intelligence.

Her heart starts beating when she confirms it’s a dog, yet she questions why it’s out here alone. As Lexa walks past, giving the dog a wide berth just in case, she spots a figure beside it. A girl with braided blonde hair stretches out on the park bench, fingers tangled in the dog’s thick fur. Lexa frowns softly. Usually the kind of homeless people Lexa sees are older males with scruffy beards, tugging shopping carts filled with cans. Sometimes she sees someone muttering to themselves, or making sudden outbursts and gestures. Those were the ones she had been warned against. But this girl on the bench, her golden hair streaming over her back, looks so out of place that Lexa almost stops. Most homeless tend to stay near the city, yet here she is, in the middle of the forest.

_Maybe she’s lost? Or trying to go camping?_

Beside her is a large backpack but nothing more. She couldn’t be a stopped jogger - she looks far too comfortable for that. Lexa notes the smudges of dirt over her and the ragged shape her clothes are in. Her heart sinks in something akin to pity, but she brushes the thought away. She doesn’t have time to emphasize with every person she sees. Lexa wonders how the sleeping homeless girl acquired such an animal, but she doesn’t question why no one messes with her. The dog looks ferocious enough to put off any intruders. For some reason, it pains her to leave the girl alone on the bench. Her face is young; Lexa guesses she’s around 18, at most 20. A teenage runaway? College dropout? There is no way to know for sure, but Lexa catches herself looking back several times as she walks away.

* * *

 Several days have passed before Lexa gets another call. She has stopped waiting for it at night, though it leaves her with bitter disappointment. Lexa doesn’t understand how she could feel upset over someone she talked to once. When the phone rings, Lexa flips it over immediately. Unknown number. She doesn’t hesitate before accepting the call, heart in her throat;

“Hello?”

“Hey - Lexa?”

“Yeah. Clarke. It’s me,” she let’s out a small laugh, secretly pleased to hear from her. “It’s been a while. How've you been?”

“You know, stuff,” Lexa assumes she’s making a vague hand gesture, and smiles at the thought. She has no idea what Clarke even looks like.

“Descriptive.”

“Just been a long week. It'll get easier, it always does,” the girl pauses. Lexa waits, wondering if she will say something more. She does. “What do you do for fun, Lexa?”

The question shocks her for a moment, and she struggles to think of what to say. She really, sadly, doesn’t remember doing anything that fun. Not in a long time.

“I go running, sometimes. When I have time outside of work.”

Clarke laughs, “I’m impressed with anyone who runs for fun. I was always more of a swimmer, growing up.”

“What about you, what do you do in your free time?”

“Oh, I like art. painting, drawing, you name it.”

Costia had played the violin. The memory sneaks past her. Lexa is unable to stop it. 

> A lazy sunday afternoon, both of them in the stuffy dorm room they shared. They were probably only sophomores or freshmen, but it was hard to say; they had moved into an apartment on campus together junior year. Lexa was sprawled out over the floor, physics notes haphazardly spread around her. She couldn't concentrate, not while costia played such beautiful music, eyes closed and smiling softly. She stood in front of the window, gazing out over Berkeley. Her hands were a blur. Lexa loved watching her hands. Costia opened her eyes, catching Lexa staring, and danced closer. When she were young, Cos had been a ballerina, and her graceful movements never let Lexa forget it. It was incredible to watch. She continued dance all throughout middle school, but stopped when track took over. The girl stopped right in front of Lexa. She wore a pale blue dress (periwinkle, she called it) that accentuated the deep bronze of her skin.
> 
> "You’re beautiful,” Lexa mused, staring up at the Costia, whose face was encompassed by the setting sun.
> 
> “Don’t I know it,” she winked before resuming the ballad.

Lexa has never missed anything more than the sound of Costia’s violin.

The sudden memory hit her like a brick, leaving her breathless, and she swallows thickly.

“Lexa? you ok?” Clarke pipes up, concern evident in her tone.

“Yeah, yeah,” she replies. “I’m fine.”

“I dont believe you.”

Lexa is shocked by the forwardness. She isn't necessarily offended, the other girl speaks hurriedly: “Sorry, that was overstepping lines, you don't have to say anything.”

“I lost someone, once,” Lexa thinks both Clarke and herself are surprised by the honesty. It takes Clarke a second to respond. Lexa curses herself at this display of weakness, but Clarke's anonymity makes it a bit easier.

“I’m sorry to hear that, it must’ve been really hard.”

Lexa feels herself nodding, before remembering Clarke can’t see her. She is being foolish by dwelling on the past, but Clarke is gentle, and Lexa has not spoken to someone about Costia since the funeral. It was strange.

“Yeah. It is," Her voice sounds wavery. It has been several years, now. Costia never finished undergrad - Lexa was already in the workforce. And yet it seems so much longer than that, as if decades had past since she last glimpsed her wide smile.

“Do you want to talk about it?”

The question startles Lexa. She hadn't considered it. Maybe one day, to someone, but not tonight.

“Not really.”

“That’s ok,” she says, then pauses before continuing. “Thank you for telling me. That was very brave.”

Lexa feels anything but brave.

“You are good at that, Clarke. Conversing with people.”

“Yeah, well. I went to med school; you need to do a lot of talking to be a doctor.”

Lexa wonders why she’s surprised to hear this. The girl had never mentioned being a doctor before, and she sounds so young.

“Where do you practice?”

“Oh no, I'm not - I'm not currently working. It’s a long story.”

Lexa picks up on the fact Clarke isn't willing to share. She lets the conversation head in simpler directions.

* * *

 On beautiful mornings like today, Lexa prefers to walk to work. She knows which routes to take and which to avoid. The city was tricky like that; one street would be posh and filled with hip, new-age coffee shops, and one block the other direction could stink of rotting trash. What could she say, the city was diverse.

As she rounds a corner, only a few streets from work, a flash of reddish fun makes her stop in her tracks. She recognizes it immediately - it’s the dog from the presidio park bench. Only this time the blonde owner is awake, and sitting beside the same hip, new cafe Lexa went to on Saturday morning. She has an array of art supplies and canvases spread out along the wall of the cafe. It was called Blake Bakery. Last time she was in, a goofy guy had attempted to flirt with her. she remembered him - Jasper, but his name tag was on backwards. She assumed he was a high school senior, or college freshman - she hoped, with that kind of humor, that he wasn't any older.

As Lexa walks closer, she sees a freckled young man walk up to the girl. He holds out a large steaming cup of what Lexa can only assume is coffee.

“Here you go, Princess.”

She smiles back at him, eyes like the summer sky. She is beautiful, even more so awake. Lexa is curious about the easy friendship between them.

People pass by her, sitting along the street. They spare no second glance, scrolling through their phones. Looking anywhere but the girl. Lexa understands this; in any other situation, she would do the same. But Lexa is intrigued by this ‘Princess’.

Her interest only increases when she see’s the painting on a large canvas. Clarke hovers over it, adding minute details. Overall, it is spectacular. Lexa never considered herself an art person, but she knows a good artist when she sees one. This girl puts many museums exhibits to shame.

Lexa pauses on the sidewalk, earning a huff of annoyance from those walking behind her. She pays them no mind, choosing to watch the blonde girl. She is extremely talented, wielding the brush like a weapon. Her objects seem to spring to life from the page. The girl holds no sign that the homeless of San Fransisco usually have. She does not beg for money. The same giant dog stands beside her as the paints. Lexa is suddenly pissed off at people.

_How can they walk by something so beautiful without looking up?_

Some drop coins beside her, not passing a glance to the drawings. They have good intentions, Lexa realizes, but it’s not what the girl wants. No, she wants a true business. She doesn’t want money out of pity; she will only accept if she works for it. Lexa can’t help but admire her.

Lexa realizes, dimly, that she has a meeting in 2 minutes. She pushes the thought away.

_I can stay just a bit longer._

The girl has enchanted her. Lexa doesn’t want to leave, but at last she does. She tears her eyes from the girl who bites her bottom lip as she smears shadows into the side of a gnarled pine tree. She doesn't turn around, but the dog watches her depart with solemn eyes.

Lexa walks the same route home that evening. Her shadow is long, and she watches it dance beside her as she walks along a wall. She convinces herself she is not hoping to see a flash of blonde hair.

She considers telling Clarke about her, this mysterious, breathtaking girl. The phone doesn’t ring that night. Lexa sleeps fitfully.

* * *

 

The days past, late summer blending into fall. Lexa notices that when Clarke calls, her mood is miraculously better. She has formed a strange friendship with the girl, one of the first times she's opened up since Costia. It’s a strange feeling, coming home from work in the evening and having someone to talk to. She decides that she likes it.

After a particularly long and grueling day at work, Lexa lies on her couch, listening to Clarke talk. It's oddly relaxing, listening to her speak; her voice rises and falls, like music.

“Anyway,” Clarke continues. “How’s life going? Wait - what do you even do for a living?”

“I work for a physics company,” she replies, skimming on the details. She has to remind herself that as much as Clarke intrigues her, she knows little to nothing about her identity. The anonymous factor is exciting, and Lexa knows it pulls her in.

She has always been a thrill seeker, but after Costia, her ways had changed. Lexa had gone with Costia to all her parties, climbed onto roofs. Once they trespassed on someones land just to make out among the bushes. The rough leaves scraped both their arms, but adrenaline coursed through their veins; it was blissful freedom and youth.

But after her death, she resorted to hours of studying, spending all her free time in the library. Avoiding the apartment as much as possible was her goal - only returning to sleep. She had waited until the current lease was over before immediately switching to the dorms. She didn't have enough money to get an apartment by herself and didn't know anyone else enough to have a roommate.

The rest of her education was a blur - she left Berkeley and her family as soon as she could get away. She hasn't walked through the campus since graduation.

Clarke doesn’t mention what she did for a living, and Lexa didn’t push it. The girl had secrets she wanted to keep hidden. Lexa understood and respected that.

“So, anything interesting happen lately?”

“My sister came home from the military earlier this month, and she’s still here.”

“That’s exciting! For how long?”

Lexa pauses, because Anya had been so vague about it. “I’m not entirely sure, but it can’t be that long.”

“Are you close to your sister?”

“Extremely. Anya was almost like a mentor to me, growing up.”

“What’s she like?”

Lexa's lip twitches in amusement. There were really no words to explain Anya. She was full of life but also solum; she was childish yet wise beyond her years.

“Anya’s very brave. She loves helping people. She doesn’t bullshit - she tells you exactly how she feels and what she wants to say.”

She can almost feel Clarke’s smile through the phone.

“What’s your favorite memory with her?”

It comes to her instantly, her mind seeking it out. “This one time we went sledding.”

When Lexa was younger, her family always went up to Lake Tahoe in the winter to visit Uncle Gustus. Gustus was a solitary man, but the few memories she has of him were bright. He always let her sit on his shoulders when she got tired during hikes. She has not seen him in many years, but they send letters once in a while.

He never married, and when she once asked him, he said that love was not equal for everyone. Her father, across the room, had glared at his brother and told him not to speak of such things.

(It was not until many, many years later that Lexa found out her uncle was gay. He loved a tall, brave man with all his heart - but Xander was stabbed because he loved Gustus. He never recovered. Some days, Lexa thinks she will never move on from Costia. she knows she doesn’t deserve to.)

Lexa pushes those thoughts to the side, instead relaying the story to Clarke.

 

> It was winter and they were staying Gustus’s cabin. The home was small, but cozy, and both Lexa and Anya curled together in sleeping bags near the fireplace. Everyone was asleep. Lexa woke up to Anya’s voice, low but persistent in her ear.
> 
> “Come on, Lexa! Let’s go on an adventure."
> 
> She flipped over, eyes wide, but heart beating in excitement. A part of her considered the rules and what her parents would say if they found out. But Anya was counting on her. She wanted her sister to think she was old enough to hang out with her, and not regret asking her to come. It was all Lexa wanted; to be best friends with her big 6th grade sister. She must’ve been only 6 at the time, baby fat still clinging to her short body. Anya towered over her, all gangly limbs and gap tooth grins. Lexa nodded silently at her sister and slipped out of the sleeping bag. They quietly grabbed boots and jackets, slipping them on over pajamas. Anya whirled and hissed as Lexa accidentally smacked an arm into the wall, emitting a dull thud. 
> 
> “Control yourself, soldier. You’ll give away our position!”
> 
> It was a familiar game, one they slipped into without thinking. Ever since they were young Anya had been enthralled with anything about wars, and Lexa was willing to go along with whatever game her sister wanted. Anya was always the strong, brave commander; Lexa was her faithful second. They always beat the bad guys.
> 
> “Sorry, Commander!” she squeaked softly. Anya rolled her eyes dramatically, and her heart sunk. Maybe her sister wouldn’t want to go with her anymore. However, to her relief, Anya only tiptoed to the door, flashing a thumbs up as she slipped outside. Lexa grabbed a flashlight and followed seconds later. The night was beautiful, not a cloud to be seen, and the snow glinted beneath a crescent moon. Anya tromped forward, head high, aiming towards the tool shed. Lexa trailed behind to cover up their steps in the snow, just in case. It was freezing and Lexa shivered, but didn’t complain. Her fingers were tinged blue and she stuffed them into her jacket pocket - as long as her sister was ok, she would manage. Anya turned suddenly, eyes gleaming beneath her giant hat.
> 
> “How about we go sledding!” It was not a question, because she knew Lexa would never say no. Anya grabbed a wooden toboggan from the shed and proceeded to drag it up a nearby hill. It took them forever, because the snow is deep in places, and once Lexa sunk all the way down to her waist. She didn’t cry, though the cold seeps through all her layers. When they finally reach the top, Lexa is exhausted. Anya, on the other hand, looks ecstatic. The moon is directly above them and illuminates her face. her sister motions for Lexa, who comes instantly.
> 
> “Soldier, there’s some trouble at home base,” she relays seriously.
> 
> Lexa nods, keeping her own voice low when she replies. “I understand. We need to get there fast!”
> 
> Anya motioned at the sled, as if she just noticed it. “Quick! Here’s a tank. Lets go.”
> 
> Lexa hopped on in front, and her sister squeezed her arms tightly around her. She felt Anya push off and they inched forward towards the edge of the hill. Lexa’s heart beat quickly in both fear and excitement, but Anya leaned over and soothingly whispered.
> 
> “Be brave.”
> 
> Lexa could be brave, for Anya. She steeled her heart and looked forward determinedly. The wind whistled past her face as they gathered speed, but her sister’s arms never left her. She felt safe, smiling and squinting her eyes against the sting of chill night air. The moon was a pearly blur above their heads; two dark figures, sliding together over the snow. In that moment, Lexa felt like they were the only two people awake in the entire world. Nothing could stop them.

Lexa feels herself open up, slowly, to Clarke over the phone. It feels good, to tell someone her stories.

“That sounds amazing,” Clarke says when she has finished.

“Are you close to your family?” she questions in return, curious about the girls’ mysterious past.

If Lexa wasn't attuned to it, she would have missed the small pause before Clarke speaks, and the uncharacteristic hollowness to her voice.

“We used to be.”

She doesn’t push Clarke further.

Once again, they lose track of time. When they finally hang up, Lexa is filled with an unexplainable feeling. She falls asleep with a smile on her face.

* * *

 

Autumn is settling in, and with it, a particular cold season.

 _It’s usually warmer than this,_ Lexa grumbles, pulling her scarf over her chin.  _For god’s sake, I live in California._

Lexa decides to take a shortcut through the park that day. Now that she’s halfway across the large expanse of grass, she realizes two important things. One, her “shortcut” is longer than the usual route to work, and two, the lack of buildings creates a ferocious wind. Her boots crunch on the icy grass and she pulls her coat tighter, grateful for it’s fur lining.

Lexa nearly stumbled when she see’s the girl, the artist, curled against the base of a tree. A thin layer of frost covers her, and Lexa watches as she shivers; lightly at first, but quickly escalating. Even from this distance, Lexa can see her teeth are chattering and the pale blue tint to her cheeks. For a moment she can’t breathe, merely gaping like a fish.

Lexa has never considered herself one to make decisions with her heart. She prides herself on being pragmatic. But lexa doesn’t think twice before jogging quickly over to the girl. Her heart thrums with fear. She doesn’t know anything about first aid or CPR, not really; she had taken a standard CPR course before becoming a lifeguard, but that was years ago. When lexa was at UC Berkeley, she took many intro courses with a boy on the pre-med track. They weren't ever close friends, but they sat together and did projects with each other. Lexa can't remember his name - Nico? Nyko? He had been covered in tattoos and had a very laid-back persona, but Lexa could see right through it. He constantly talked about medical factoids; so often that Lexa sometimes wanted to throw her textbook at him. But now, when some words of doctor wisdom would be helpful, she remembers nothing he ever said.

As she approaches, the dog looks up from beside her. He had curled his large, furry frame around his owner; Lexa realizes he was trying to keep her warm. She approaches slowly, arms extended in a gesture she hoped would convey peace. The dog just watches her, as if he realizes she is trying to help. He stands, shaking ice from his fur, and lets out a deep bark. The girl stirs immediately.

“Atticus.. What? Whats going on..?”

The voice is strangely familiar. She brushes the thought off, because there is no way she could’ve met her before. She is striking, and Lexa would definitely remember her face. She moves her arms slowly, sluggishly, and her speech is slurred as if drunk. Lexa knows that can’t be a good sign. She crouches down in front of her, lifting a hand to the girls face. Her cheek is soft, but cold. Her hand seeks a pulse point, and she is relieved when she finds it, beating steadily, on her wrist.

“Hey, hey,” Lexa says as the girl lets out a distressed whine.

_She’s really out of it, she needs some help._

Lexa helps her to her feet, but she stumbles.

“Do you have anyone I can call?”

She shakes her head. Lexa decides, in that instant, that she will get her the help she needs, even if she must pay for it herself. She holds the girl up and coaxes her to step forward. The blonde reaches a trembling hand, pointing to her backpack. It still lies next to the tree, and Lexa swings it over her shoulder.

She tries not to think about how the girl’s hair smells sweet, like flowers. They make slow progress, but Lexa only lives a block away.


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Lexa wakes to find Clarke’s face pressed against her neck, her arm slung across the girl’s stomach, and a dog sitting on her legs. All in all, it’s not too bad. She’s woken up in worse situations. Her limbs are completely tangled with Clarke's, and there’s no way to move unless Atticus does, which doesn't look like it will happen anytime soon. She feels Clarke shift beside her, arms tightening around her waist. She grumbles nonsense in her ear, and Lexa can’t help but smile. She wants to savor this moment. Who knows if it will ever happen again?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So, instead of posting a big 15k chapter, I decided to split it up one more time. Also, I have finals this week and didn't get to proof read the rest. GIANT THANKS to both koalabear77 and haelstorm for beta reading for me <3
> 
> Feel free to chat with me on tumblr 24/7 @[clarkelionheart](http://clarkelionheart.tumblr.com/) :)

Lexa wonders, far too late, why the hell she didn’t call for an ambulance. She must not have been thinking at all. They are almost home, but she is receiving all sorts of weird looks. The stares range from confused to terrified to let's-cross-the-street. She can’t even blame them. The girl holds onto her and stumbles forward, Lexa supporting most of her weight, and the giant dog walks regally beside them. 

When they arrive at her building, Lexa makes a beeline for her car. She had at some point grown impatient with the slow pace, and now she cradles this girl in her arms. The blonde isn’t heavy, but her skin is unnaturally cold where it brushes against her. Here is Lexa Heda holding a homeless girl like a baby, with a giant-ass dog walking beside her. Who would've thought? She would laugh if she wasn’t so scared.  

Lexa deposits the girl in her backseat, and the dog jumps in after. She tries not to cringe as the animal - Atticus, the girl had called him - scratches the leather seat and shakes clouds of fur over everything. She has bigger things to worry about. 

The drive to the hospital is a blur. Lexa dimly remembers searching for the nearest Kaiser Permanente on Google Maps and driving slightly over the speed limit before pulling into a large parking lot under an “ **EMERGENCY** ” sign. The clock reads 9:46 am. She should be at work right now. Her co-workers must be worried; Lexa isn’t one to arrive late. But she can’t call them right now - she has to concentrate on the mysterious, probably homeless, blonde girl in her backseat.  

Lexa doesn't even bother letting her try to walk, but swings the girl up into her arms immediately. She grumbles before turning her head into the crook of Lexa’s arm. Lexa wants to ignore how beautiful this girl is. She doesn’t even know her name. The dog barks at them, attempting to stuff his face into the small crack in the window Lexa left him. 

“Stay, Atticus,” she snaps. To her surprise, the dog merely grumbles in dissatisfaction and doesn’t bark again. 

Lexa rushes through the parking lot as fast as she is able. The hospital doors slide open for her, and she nearly skids on the tile floor. She is greeted with a rush of cool air. 

There is a group of people gathered near a front desk. Lexa marches to the front of the line, quickly cutting off the woman currently speaking. 

“Help her,” Lexa practically growls. She holds the girl out like an offering, and the desk attendant’s eyes widen. She abandons the line of people to call at someone behind her, voice urgent. Lexa misses what they say, too focused on the blonde clinging to her shirt and whining. Two men in white lab coats appear almost instantaneously and delicately lift the limp girl from her arms. The girl grabs for her blindly. Lexa feels weightless without her; she stumbles backwards until her knees hit the nearest vacant seat. She is dizzy, and the room spins. Everything smells faintly of chemicals. Her head hits the wall behind her and Lexa’s vision goes fuzzy. She closes her eyes.  

* * *

 

“Excuse me, miss?” 

Lexa startles at the unfamiliar voice, straightening up from a slouch. Her neck aches and she rubs it, wincing, while looking up. A man in a white coat gazes down at her. Taking in the cream walled room,she struggles to remember her surroundings: homeless girl, cold, hospital. Lexa’s wide awake now, glancing out the window. She can’t tell how much time has passed - the sun is still bright outside. She looks at the man, trying to keep her voice neutral. 

“How is she?”

He blinks once, then gestures for her to follow. Lexa does, trailing him to the end of the hall past rows and rows of doors. She pointedly keeps her eyes away from the rooms, afraid of what she’ll see inside. He stops near the end of the hall, pointing.

“First, miss, I have some questions -” 

Lexa doesn’t wait; she pushes through the door hurriedly despite the doctor’s protests. The girl lies on a nest of pale blue blankets with an IV connected to her wrist. She looks peaceful, asleep. Lexa feels her heart rate gradually slow to normal. 

“She's going to be ok”, she whispers in relief.

“That she is,” someone answers behind her. Lexa jumps, for she hadn’t heard anyone come in. The doctor looks sheepish. She notices he is relatively young - and handsome, if she were into that. 

“Sorry to startle you. I’m Dr. Jackson,” he says. “I need to ask you some questions about the patient.”

_Shit._ Lexa knows next to nothing about this girl, but she’s not about to say that to him. She knows enough about hospitals that she wouldn't be allowed in here if she told him the truth.

“Okay,” she says, trying to keep her voice calm. Maybe she can bullshit her way out of this one. She’s done it before, on far too many occasions.

“Great,” Dr. Jackson slides a pen from his shirt pocket. “What’s her name?”

Lexa struggles momentarily. She is prepared to say the first name that comes to mind (which is Costia, and that would’ve been terrible) when a low voice speaks, scaring them both. 

“Clarke. Clarke Griffin.”

Lexa balks, spinning around fully to face her. The girl cracks open one eye; it’s the same blue as the sky visible through the window behind her. Lexa feels her heart stutter. She knows she’s staring, mouth open, but she just can’t look away.

_ No, it can't be! The girl on the phone - Clarke... _

Now that she thinks about it, it makes sense that her voice sounded familiar. Clarke said she was a painter, too - why hasn’t Lexa made the connection until now? At least it explains why she’s drawn to the girl.

“Glad to see you awake, Miss Griffin,” Dr. Jackson practically beams at the girl and breaks through Lexa’s shock. “Now,” he says, turning back to Lexa, “please fill out your information and relation to the patient here.” He hands her a clipboard with several sheets of paper. Lexa places it on a visitor chair and turns to Jackson, eyes steely.

“What is her prognosis?” 

“I’m sorry, but we need to confirm that you are related to Miss Griffin before revealing-“

Lexa steps forward to interrupt him, tone low. She’s not one to back down before getting her way. “Now listen here-”

Clarke speaks again, and both of them turn. She looks exhausted, but slightly pissed. Lexa feels a small smile form on her lips at the girl’s grumpy expression, and it confuses her.

“Doctor - she’s my cousin. Only living relative. Please, talk to her.” 

He looks at her, sighing, and drags a hand through his short hair. When he looks back at Lexa, he nods. 

“I’ll make an exception. Step outside, Miss…?”

“Lexa. Heda.”

She hears the shallow gasp behind her and knows Clarke made the connection as well. She doesn’t turn around before following Jackson into the hallway. She would have to discuss it with Clarke later, anyway. 

“Miss Griffin was suffering from mild hypothermia when you brought her in. We were able to stabilize her quickly. She is young and otherwise healthy. We are lucky it wasn't any worse. However -“ he hesitates. “It is… unusual for someone living indoors, at this time of year in California, to get hypothermia. It is extremely rare, actually. So I must ask you; how exactly did she come to be in this condition?”

Lexa speaks calmly, idea forming in her mind as she talks. “We were camping. It got cold, and she wasn’t in her sleeping bag. Clarke’s always been quite stubborn.”

This was her element, standing on the edge of a lie. The doctor looks skeptical but doesn’t question further. She knows she owes him, big time. 

“Thank you, Lexa. You may join your cousin now, if you wish.” he turns away, walking quickly down the hallway. Lexa steps inside the room again.

Clarke is staring at her, just as she expected. Lexa ignores the odd feeling in her stomach when she looks into those sharp blue eyes. It’s unnerving, how rattled they make her feel. 

“So, we finally meet in person, stranger.”

Lexa laughs, but it sounds hollow, even to her. 

“Who would’ve thought, Clarke?”

Clarke smiles, before her eyes suddenly go wide with alarm and she blurts out: “Atticus-?!” 

“Don’t worry. He’s in my car. Totally fine, but worried about you.”

Clarke visibly relaxes against the pillows with a loud sign. She closes her eyes. Her love for the dog is kind of endearing, Lexa notes, before chastising herself for her wandering thoughts. Lexa takes a moment to text a co-worker to clear her schedule for the day. She says it’s a “family emergency” which, given that Clarke is her ‘cousin’, is not too far from the truth.  A reply comes moments later, telling her to take her time and that she hopes everything is well. Lexa glances back to Clarke, lying there with eyes closed, and wonders where the hell they go from here. 

Lexa doesn’t know what compels her to stay. She did her good deed; Clarke is safe. She has already decided to pay for the bill, assuming that someone who makes art on the street wouldn't have enough cash to spare for the hefty amount. The cost isn’t a strain on her, and at this point she feels obligated. But aside from that, Lexa could easily just drop Atticus off at the pound and go back to her normal life. 

(She doesn’t.)

Lexa finds herself questioning her sanity several times throughout the day. She passes the hours in Clarke’s small room, curled onto one of the plastic visitor chairs.  

_What am I thinking?_

She had literally picked up two strays off the streets of San Francisco, and was now signing numerous medical forms claiming to be Clarke’s “only living relative”. She could get in so much trouble for this, but for some reason the thought sends a thrill of excitement through Lexa. It had been a long time since she’d done anything slightly dangerous, so she lingers at the hospital, something holding her there. She doesn't sleep much, instead napping throughout the day. Clarke sleeps soundly however, seldom making conversation. The rise and fall of her chest is rhythmic and calming. Lexa watches her sleeping form more often than she wants to admit. 

When Lexa leaves Clarke’s room, she goes and sits with Atticus in her car. The dog has not stopped whining since Clarke left, and his voice has only gotten louder. Lexa doesn’t know much about taking care of animals, but she tries. Sometimes she walks him around, but the dog keeps trying to yank her towards the hospital doors, howling, and she has to put him back in her car.

Other times, when the air between Clarke and Lexa seems too intense, she goes to sit in the emergency waiting room. 

She doesn’t like the waiting room - it is noisy, hard to relax in. The scent of chemicals permeates the entire vicinity. People continuously show up with wounds that bring bad memories to Lexa’s mind. She has too much time to think, and the old guilt trickles back. Sometimes blood pools all over the tile floor from the wounds people come in with. Lexa stares at the drops of dark red, numb, until someone mops it away. Seeing people walk through the doors bruised and crying, sometimes with others and sometimes alone, makes her think of Costia. She tries not to, she really does. But the pain is always there, lying just beneath the surface. She can’t help it. 

She sees herself, barely 19, sitting in a similar waiting room. There are no windows, no clock - nothing to break up the long hallway. She doesn’t know what time it is, only that she is utterly alone. Lexa doesn’t cry, and hates herself with a ferocity because of her lack of tears. 

_You’re a monster._

That was not so long ago, but she’s an entirely different person now. 

It was all her fault. Costia was dead because of her. Lexa never deserved to be relieved of the crippling guilt. It haunted her, but the pain was warranted.

She had been busy, juggling a part time job to pay for being a full time student. She was always busy. Lexa never took a break, never paused for a second to look Costia in the eye and thank her for everything. She never got the chance. 

Lexa had hardly seen Costia that whole week, let alone sat down to talk to her. She had a research paper due the next day and hardly looked up when Cos walked in, ranting. 

 

> “Are you even listening to me?”

No, she wasn’t. But God, did she wish she had been. She was narrowmindedly focused on a report. So trivial, in retrospect. She would give anything to speak to her girlfriend - ex-girlfriend - just one more time. Lexa wishes she had listened to every single word Costia ever said. 

The floodgates have opened. The memories return, battering Lexa with a tidal wave of emotion. Raised voices, clipped tones, exaggerated hand gestures. 

 

> “This is too one-sided. I’m doing all the work to hold us together, Lexa!”

She felt a spark of anger at being distracted from her project. Tensions ran high, and she snapped, shouting back. She wishes she hadn’t. She knew Costia told nothing but the truth. They never spent time together anymore. 

The flash of hurt on her girlfriend’s face was the last thing she saw on her living body.  

 

> “I need some air.” 

When Costia raised her arms in defeat and walked out the door, Lexa didn’t even turn around. 

She missed the last glimpse she had of her girlfriend. How was she supposed to know that it was the end? It was all her fault. 

 

> _ “We’re so sorry.” _

Costia had stormed out of their shared apartment complex, located at the edge of campus. The details got blurry from there. Lexa wasn’t sure where facts ended and her imagination began. Her memory was partly constructed from what others had said. Costia had walked down the street in Berkeley at 11 at night because of Lexa. It was her fault that Cos happened to pass a bank and witness a fucking robbery. No witnesses could be left at the scene. The blood was on her hands.

 

>   _“Do you have anyone we can call?”_

Costia was shot from a moving vehicle. They never caught them. The bullet didn’t hit her heart but it hit close. It was not a clean shot. 

 (Lexa would know. She identified the body.)

Costia couldn't get enough air into her lungs to scream for help, so no one found her until it was far too late. Lexa didn’t even notice she hadn’t come back until far, far too late. It took the first responders a while to find Lexa - that too was her fault. They weren't married. They were nothing, no connection in the law’s eye. 

 

> _"There’s nothing we can do. Surgery would be futile.”_

This is what she remembers: screams that haunt her to this day, as if Costia’s voice could carry all the way to the apartment. Sirens blaring. Red lights flashing. Police tape - yellow, like the dress Costia wore at their high school graduation. An empty feeling in her gut. Her limbs moving sluggishly, leaden.  Rivers in the street, drowning everything. But it wasn’t a flood of water; it was blood, and Costia was the only victim.

(Lexa wishes it had been her.)   

 

> _“Do you want to say goodbye?”_

 Weightlessness, then ringing in her ears as she collided with pavement. 

There is no one to blame but herself. When Lexa finally dozes off, her mind is haunted by Costia’s joyful laugh.

“I’m sorry!” she tries to shout. But her mouth is sewn shut and she can’t speak, can’t move, as Costia gets farther and farther away. 

* * *

 

In the middle of the night, Lexa wakes to mournful howling. Her eyes seek Clarke like a reflex, tension slightly easing when she realizes the girl is safe. Even from the hospital room she can hear Atticus, whose cries have not diminished since they arrived. Clarke is awake, but she doesn't speak; instead, she stares out over the parking lot with a frown. She doesn’t turn around as Lexa leaves the room. In the emergency room lobby, one of the night staff waves her over. Her name is Betsy; an older women with a soft smile and wrinkled hands. Soon after they arrived that morning, she had brought Lexa hot coffee without even asking. 

“Miss Lexa, is that your animal?”

She cringes, realizing Atticus must be keeping other patients awake. She wonders what she would do if they ask her to take the dog away. 

“It’s Clarke’s - the patient. Not my dog.”

Betsy sighs, looking wearily out the door. “I’m bending the rules here, Miss Lexa. I can’t have a word of this mentioned to anyone, understand?” She waits until Lexa nods in agreement.

“People need to sleep. I’m going upstairs to check on the patients. I will be gone for several minutes. Bring the dog in, quickly and quietly. If someone asks you about it, I had no idea. Maybe if it sees that Miss Griffin’s fine it will stop crying.”

Lexa nods, thanking her profusely, before dashing outside. Atticus is huddled in her car, watching her approach. The window is smudged with nose prints. 

She grabs the dog’s leash and doesn't even need to direct him. He immediately dashes towards the hospital and doesn't let up until Lexa opens the doors to Clarke’s room. He leaps towards the bed, jumping on his hind legs to put his large paws beside her. Clarke stares at Atticus in delight, ruffling his giant head. She turns to Lexa with the same grin, and Lexa wonders why her face feels so hot. 

They form a bond together in that little room. They trade stories, joke around, just as they do on the phone. It is surprisingly easy to slip back into their old dynamic, even if the game has changed. Lexa finds herself watching Clarke out of the corner of her eye even when they’re not speaking. She is breathtaking in the simplest of ways. Lexa knows she has no right to feel this way. 

The hospital releases Clarke the next morning despite Dr. Jackson’s protests. He would prefer to watch her more than just 24 hours, “Just in case,” but eventually he gives in. Clarke convinces him that she’s fine. She has gone to med school, after all, and knows exactly what happened inside her body. The doctor gives Lexa strict instructions to watch ‘her cousin’ carefully over the next few days. Lexa lies, shame in her heart, and promises to keep Clarke safe and warm. The uneasy feeling in her gut doesn’t go away.

They walk to the parking lot side-by-side, Lexa remaining close just in case she stumbles. Clarke’s face lights up when she spots Atticus peering out of the car window. Lexa definitely does not almost fall over when she sees that smile. 

Lexa slides into the drivers’ side, glancing into the rear-view mirror to see the Atticus’s tail wagging furiously, thumping against the front seat, and Clarke’s hands clutching his furry mane. She looks so content, her eyes sparkling as she catches Lexa’s gaze. She looks younger, here, though her smile was just as bright on the streets. She wears Lexa’s shirt and pants because she didn’t have her own - Lexa had gone back to her apartment to grab them, as well as some leftover filet mignon for Atticus. Clarke looks clean and refreshed, and Lexa cannot help but want to hold her. 

As she steers out of the parking lot, Clarke speaks up: “Can you drop me off at the park?”

Lexa almost skids to a halt, right there in the street. She looks back at Clarke, horrified; the other girl looks merely confused.

“Uh, ok then, I can just walk from here -“

“Are you fucking kidding me?” Lexa watches Clarke’s eyes narrow in anger, and she leans forward until they’re face-to-face. She smells like soap and is so close Lexa can see the varying shades of blue in her eyes, neither of which help her concentration. 

“Listen, Lexa, thanks for doing this, but can you stop being a -”

“Don’t go.”

Clarke is speechless. Lexa almost curses herself for being too honest, but for once it has the desired effect on the blonde. She sits back, surprise clouding her gaze. Lexa continues: “You almost froze to death out there. I can’t - I don’t want you to go back out. Not in this weather. It’s not safe.”

Clarke snorts, face immediately hardening. Her jaw twitches at the comment. “Your worry is touching, Lexa, but believe me, I’ll be fine. Besides, all the shelters are full, and even if they weren’t, none of them want a giant bear-dog walking around. I don’t exactly have a choice.” She sounds resigned, like she’s accepted her homelessness. Lexa hates hearing that kind of emotion in Clarke’s voice. 

“You can come with me,” she says. She aims for lighthearted, but the words are too heavy. They weigh down the air between them as soon as she speaks. Clarke looks like she’s about to refuse, so Lexa steps in again.“I promised Doctor Jackson I’d make sure you're ok, alright? I have more than enough space in my loft, and I can drop you off tomorrow. It’s just one night. You almost died, Clarke. Please.”

Clarke sighs before finally nodding, not meeting her eyes. 

“Just one night.”

* * *

 

“I’m not going to take your bed, Lexa.” 

Lexa sighs, hands on her hips, and glares back at Clarke. The blonde’s eyes are narrowed.

_She’s almost as stubborn as me._

“Clarke, don’t be ridiculous. You are the guest. I can’t have you sleeping on my couch.”

They had arrived at the loft over an hour ago, and are still arguing about their sleeping situation. Lexa gave Clarke the tour, consisting of 30 seconds of “Office. Living room. Kitchen. Two bathrooms, there and there. My room.” Lexa scrounged up some leftover pasta from the fridge and heated it up for dinner. She and Clarke ate side by side on the bar stools, knees occasionally brushing. Lexa tossed Atticus a few slices of bacon, which he devoured in a matter of moments. Now that dinner is done, Clarke stands rigidly in Lexa’s room doorway, arms crossed. She refuses to take the bed - Lexa doesn’t want to think about how long it’s been since the girl slept in one. 

“Lexa, I know you’re just trying to be nice and all, but-“

“You are taking the bed. That’s final.” Lexa tries to replicate the tone she uses at work, but it loses some intensity when faced with Clarke. The blonde looks like she’s ready to argue, before throwing her arms up in defeat and walking into the bedroom. Lexa, on the couch, falls asleep to the sounds of Atticus snuffling around her head. 

 

* * *

Lexa hears a scream. Her eyes shoot open in the dark. In an instant she has rolled off the couch and is stumbling towards her bedroom door. She nearly trips over Atticus, who is also scrambling to his feet, before her eyes come to rest on Clarke. 

Clarke looks absolutely terrified, her small form swallowed by the large bed. Lexa sees the glint of tear tracks on her cheek, but Clarke brushes them away quickly. The girl’s chest is heaving. Lexa doesn’t know what to do, until Clarke’s eyes find hers; after that, it’s simple. She walks over, slowly, as if Clarke is a deer. Clarke raises her arms as Lexa sits on the edge of the bed and scoots closer. She leans forward, holding the smaller girl tightly in her arms. Embarrassment and awkwardness fall away in an instant, as they tend to do during the night. Clarke’s face nuzzles against her shoulder and one hand grips Lexa’s thin t-shirt over her lower back. 

Her hair smells like floral shampoo, Lexa’s shampoo, and it’s intoxicating. It feels so right, Clarke leaning against her. It is innocent and she is dizzy with the surge of emotion. Lexa doesn’t ask what her nightmare was about - Clarke will tell her if she wants to. Not a single word is exchanged between them, for none are needed. Lexa’s collarbone is damp with tears but she doesn’t mind. She traces circles into the blonde girl’s back until sleep overtakes them both. 

Lexa wakes to find Clarke’s face pressed against her neck, her arm slung across the girl’s stomach, and a dog sitting on her legs. All in all, it’s not too bad. She’s woken up in worse situations. Her limbs are completely tangled with Clarke's, and there’s no way to move unless Atticus does, which doesn't look like it will happen anytime soon. She feels Clarke shift beside her, arms tightening around her waist. She grumbles nonsense in her ear, and Lexa can’t help but smile. She wants to savor this moment. Who knows if it will ever happen again?

As Clarke slowly returns to consciousness, her cheeks burn red and she hastily pushes away from Lexa.

“Shit! Sorry,”

Lexa smiles, rolling her eyes. “It was just as much my fault as yours.”

“Yeah, I bet,” Clarke’s embarrassment falls away as she smirks, winking before slipping out of the bed. 

The transformation from flustered to suave is incredible. Lexa’s jaw almost drops. The confidence Clarke holds herself with continues to amaze her, as it is always revealed in the smallest of ways. Lexa tries not to watch her walk away, swaying her hips in what Lexa assumes is an exaggerated manner. Clarke only had a single spare pair of clothes, and they were ratty and dirty. One of Lexa’s old shirts falls to reveal Clarke’s shoulders and her borrowed running shorts hardly cover anything.  She doesn’t mind, not really; she still sends a silent thanks to the Lululemon gods. Lexa feels like she’s intruding, taking advantage of the girl, and for a moment she’s horrified at herself. It was never her intention. Besides, Clarke wasn’t really a girl, much as she acted like one - she was 23. 

Clarke, as it turns out, is a truly amazing cook. She decides to make eggs and bacon, scavenging through the fridge for ingredients as Lexa props herself up on her elbows to watch. Clarke looks perfectly at ease here, her eyes bleary with sleep. Lexa tries to imagine the girl waking up in a damp alleyway and wants to vomit. It is so wrong. Even Atticus looks happy, his fur gleaming. He trots around Lexa’s legs as if waiting for food, and she surprises herself by bending down to ruffle his head. Long red fur covers her bedroom floor, and for once Lexa is grateful for her hardwood floors. Easier to clean. 

Lexa is so enthralled by Clarke that she jumps at the time. 8:20 am. _Shit_. She has 10 minutes to get to work - she’ll have to drive. Clarke glances up at her outburst, and her eyes immediately harden in recognition. She steps forward, dropping the plate in front of Lexa. It smells delicious - omelets with bacon and chopped vegetables. 

“I’m on my way out, don’t worry.” Clarke says, turning away. 

Lexa’s not sure she understands. Her forehead crinkles in uncertainty. “No, what are you talking about? Stay as long as you want.”

The blonde snorts softly, quickly washing her coffee mug in the sink. “I’ve had enough pity, Lexa. I get it. You got your good karma points, and it’s time for me to go.”

_Clarke thinks I’m kicking her out?_

“Clarke, hold on.” Lexa scrambles for words. “What I was going to say is, I wouldn’t mind. If you needed to stay for another night. Or so.” It is coming out all wrong, but Lexa has never been good with expressing her emotions. 

“I need to leave for work now, down in the financial district. You can stay here. If you want. While I’m-” she gestures toward the door in an awkward hand swoop. _Really classy, Lexa._ “you know, out.”

The blonde stares at her for several seconds, as if weighing the validity of her words, before replying, “I’ll think about it.” 

As Lexa turns out the door, she thinks she hears a quiet “thanks” from behind her.

When she gets home that afternoon, the apartment is deserted. Lexa is not particularly surprised, but it still leaves an empty feeling in her chest. The quiet mocks her. 

On her bedside table, a note is scribbled on a napkin.

 

 

 

 

> _ Lexa -  _
> 
> _ This was the only paper item I could find. In your entire house. Anyway, I wanted to say thanks for helping me. I don’t want to take advantage of your kindness. I do perfectly well on my own and I don’t want to be the one to weigh you down. Maybe we can talk again on the phone sometime.  _
> 
> _ Clarke (& Atticus)  _

 

Lexa wants to rip the note to shreds and throw it at the wall. Clarke is so unbelievably wrong - she hasn’t dragged her down. Not in the slightest. She’s the first person Lexa has been able to really talk to since Costia’s death. With Clarke, she feels like everything could turn out ok. She could have a solid friendship at last. 

* * *

 

For several days, Lexa pretends she doesn’t miss Clarke. She tries not to look for a flash of gold hair in a crowd, and convinces herself to stop waiting for the phone to ring. It hurts, but she knows she has to forget the girl. 

On the first of October, after two weeks of not hearing from Clarke, it rains hard. Hail splatters against her window, rattling the pane. She can hardly see the lights of neighboring buildings. Lexa’s mind is preoccupied with thoughts of the blonde girl, alone, braving the ferocious weather. She can faintly hear the weatherman on TV warning her to “Stay inside where it’s warm!” before she grabs her keys and heads down to the garage. 

Few people dare driving in these conditions, especially at night, and Lexa crawls down the streets at a snail’s pace. The downpour dramatically decreases her visibility, and she peers out her window at the sidewalks. She doesn't see Clarke. She knows, logically, how useless her search is. The chances of randomly coming across her are slim. Lexa usually keeps calm in emergency situations, but the fast thump of her heart is as near-panicked as she’s been in a long time. It is even colder than the first morning Lexa found her, especially with the rain pouring down. Her mind subconsciously drifts to an image of Clarke, shivering beneath a tree. Lexa _needs_ to find her. She wishes her phone would ring, a sign Clarke found a phone booth to call her from. She just wants a sign that the girl is okay, but the iPhone remains silent beside her. 

Lexa doesn’t know how many hours it’s been, only that her eyes are sore from squinting through the unrelenting storm. She is about to give up, continue her search somewhere other than the financial district, when two figures hurrying down the street catch her eye. She doesn’t look twice before screeching ahead and pulling up to the curb beside them, rolling the window down. 

“Clarke!” she yells, her voice drowned out by the wind and rain. 

The girl whips her head around. Her arms are tucked tightly to her chest. Beside her, Atticus is drenched. The dog’s ears perk up at her voice, but Clarke merely stares. She hesitates for a long moment before opening the back seat for Atticus and climbing in the front beside Lexa.

As soon as the doors and windows are closed, the two turn to each other. The sound of the wind is muffled, and all Lexa can hear is Clarke’s heavy breathing. She is wearing a jacket, but it is fleece, and drenched. Lexa pulls off her own coat and hands it over.

“Take off your shirt,” she holds it out, and Clarke takes it slowly. She pulls her sweatshirt over her head. The undershirt is also damp, and clings to her skin, but they will worry about that at the loft. 

“Usually, people sound a bit happier when I get that line,” her comeback is muffled underneath the coat, but Lexa smiles at the effort anyway. 

_If Clarke can still joke, then everything will turn out alright._

* * *

“You need a hot shower,” Lexa orders as they walk into her loft. The front door has hardly slammed shut before she is ushering Clarke into her bathroom. She leaves the girl in front of the sink to turn on the water, waiting until the temperature is perfect. 

“I am perfectly capable of bathing myself, thanks,” Clarke’s voice is dry, but a small smile makes up for it. She sits on the counter next to the sink, and seeing her there, safe and sound, changes something in Lexa. Clarke’s eyes twinkle with unfailing spirit, and Lexa doesn’t let her head catch up with her body before stepping forward and pressing her lips against Clarke’s. 

She feels the other girl still against her, and almost flinches back at her mistake. It was the softest of kisses yet Lexa almost pulls back an inch to apologize. But no - hands curl around her waist, freezing cold, but grounding her. Clarke pushes back, and Lexa steps, completely pliant, until her back hits the tile wall. Clarke angles her mouth upward. She’s persistent, as if they are running out of time. 

(Perhaps they are.)

When they pull apart, Lexa blinks for several seconds. Clarke’s pupils are blown wide, darkening her eyes. Lexa immediately coughs and averts her gaze.

“I think I’ll take my shower now,” she says in a raspy voice. 

Lexa nods in agreement. “Towels are in the closet,” she tosses over her shoulder before closing the bathroom door. And promptly banging her head against the wall. Lexa groans, before looking at the confused dog beside her. His long auburn fur was ruffled from when Clarke had hastily dried him off. 

“I am so screwed, Atticus,” she mutters quietly. 

Lexa sleeps on the couch that night, letting the blonde have her bed. When Clarke finishes with the shower, she walks into the living room and pauses in the doorframe. Lexa squeezes her eyes shut and feigns sleep; she doesn’t want to face Clarke. The girl lingers, watching her, for a several prolonged seconds before turning away. Lexa lies awake for several hours afterward, mind whirling with once-dormant emotion. 

The both rise early the next morning, preparing for their separate days. Separate lives, Lexa thinks sadly. Clarke walks around in a pair of Lexa’s fuzzy socks, sliding all over the kitchen.  

The kiss hangs unmentioned between them. They fill the silence with trivial banter, joking about people they’ve met and experiences from the past. It is easy, and not at all awkward, if Lexa doesn’t think about how soft Clarke’s lips were. So many things confuse her, but there’s one constant thought in Lexa’s mind: her world feels much less empty with Clarke. 

It is probably a terrible time when Lexa blurts out what she’s been holding inside, several minutes before she has to go to work. 

“What if I commissioned you? In art, for rent?”

Clarke’s sentence trails off. “What?”

Lexa takes a deep breath before continuing: “I’m offering a place for you to stay. You can have the office,” she waves to a small room next to the kitchen. “In exchange, you draw me art. Lots of art.” She looks around the barren house. Not a single photo hangs on any walls. “Paint whatever you want. If you paint, I’ll provide a roof over your head and food.”

She knows the bargain is not equal in the slightest, and so does Clarke. But she watches Lexa with powerful eyes, and Lexa can’t look back at her. The gaze seeks parts of Lexa she would prefer to keep hidden. But here she is, revealing what she truly wants to a girl she met on the street. A girl she's really trying not to think about so much. 

As Lexa opens the front door to leave, a voice calls out behind her. “I’ll consider it, Lexa Heda.” 

* * *

Later that evening, when Lexa walks into her loft, Atticus bounds to greet her in the hallway. She pauses to scratch his large head.

_Really, when did I become such an animal person?_

From the living room, Clarke raises her mug in greeting, before turning back to the TV.

“Lexa, get over here! The Land Before Time is on - I used to love this movie! I still know all the dinosaur names.” 

It isn’t weird at all, coming home to someone on her couch. Sharing her space. Everything, _Clarke_ , feels perfectly right. It is the first time Lexa has been sure of anything since Costia. Her ex-girlfriend had loved her just as fiercely as she loved her back, but Costia was gone. She wouldn’t want Lexa to wallow in grief forever; she would want her to let go, move on with her life. She smiles softly and goes to sit beside Clarke, her body fizzing with a strange feeling. 


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Clarke beats her to it. She steps in front of Lexa, and though the man's physical stature exceeds her in height, her presence dwarfs him.
> 
> “Don’t touch her,” Clarke growls. She places a soft hand on Lexa’s side, below the crop top and right next to her tattoo. It is a protective action, a claim of sorts, and the contact with her bare skin sends a thrill through Lexa. If it had been anyone else, she would have brushed them off with a snarl - but for Clarke, all Lexa can do is try her best not to quiver at the proximity.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Please don't hate me - the next segment was almost 20k and I thought that would be too long to post in one chapter. Th reason I didn't update for a few days was because I keep adding more to this fic! Really, it's taken over my life!! But i'll post the final part soon, and after, I'm going to do an epilogue. 
> 
> Feedback makes my day, thank you so much for reading :)
> 
> chat with me on tumblr @[clarkelionheart](http://clarkelionheart.tumblr.com/)!

Clarke leaves every morning, sometimes before the sun rises. Lexa can’t understand why she does this, and hopes it’s not because Clarke thinks it bothers her. She doesn’t didn’t know how to say that she isn’t wasn’t bothered in the slightest, but in fact is was thrilled to have a friend to confide in. Truth be told, Lexa loves talking to her in the mornings, and even enjoys the dog’s slobbery company. Every evening, Clarke walks in the door, toting a giant backpack and a breathtaking new canvas. She always looks exhausted, but Lexa hands the blonde a cup of coffee or hot chocolate. Her answering smile is the most beautiful thing Lexa has ever seen.

Slowly, Lexa’s loft and office are filled with colorful scenes, the bleak grey walls overtaken by vivid paintings. She loves it, and loves Clarke’s beaming expression when she praises her work.

Everyone at Ark Industries compliments the paintings, and every time she tells them Clarke’s name with pride. Word of her talent quickly spreads through the building. Lexa’s face hurts from smiling after Clarke tells her that Indra has commissioned her for a giant painting of a moonlit forest.

The loft loses it’s pristine demeanor and sharp edges; the colorful canvases breathe life into each room, and the once-barren tables are covered in odd items, such as a wayward notepad or paintbrush.

Money is a touchy subject, but they are able to work around it. The largest issue arises when Lexa drives Clarke to IKEA to buy her a bed for the office. Neither of them mention that their living situation is temporary, and maybe a bed is hardly necessary. The inevitable fact of Clarke leaving is a topic ignored by them both. Lexa, known for being pragmatic, can’t bring herself to think about that.

As they walk around the store, Clarke agues for hours about the price. She wants the cheapest bed available - a small, rickety thing that Lexa is afraid to sit on. Lexa doesn’t mind getting a slightly bigger bed and contributing to the cost, if it means Clarke isn’t scrunched up in a child’s bed. Her artwork is definitely rising in prominence around the city, but it is slow, and she hasn’t earned much money yet. Lexa is fine paying for her, but then she catches a micro expression on Clarke’s face and stills. The blonde covers it a moment later with a witty comeback, but Lexa knows what she saw.

She went to a fancy, slightly preppy private high school, but only because she had a full scholarship. Lexa is smart, but she had been born on the “wrong side of the tracks”. She has never felt ashamed of her family and upbringing - her parents are hardworking, wonderful people. However, while growing up, many of her rich classmates would make subtle gestures or comments that referred to her lack of wealth. Lexa knew they were just trying to be nice, but she had an afterschool job and didn’t want anyones pity for anything. She didn’t want the sidelong glances when Indra told the track team to bring money for gear; or, when someone offered to pay for her bus fare with an overly bright smile. She could afford that - just because she worked after school and they had millions in a trust fund didn’t mean Lexa couldn’t take care of herself.  
The only person who never, not once, did this to her was Costia.

The look on Clarke’s face, as they stand in the large IKEA isle, is one she wore continuously throughout childhood. Even if the blonde couldn’t completely afford the bed, Lexa wouldn’t bring it up, or offer to pay for it. Clarke is proud and independent, just like Lexa, and because of her own history she doesn’t dare question it.

It isn't perfect, but the world they carefully began to build together is damn close.

* * *

On a cloudy, mid-October Sunday, they take Atticus to Crissy Fields in Golden Gate Park. The day is windy, as coastal weather usually is. The fog nearly blankets the Golden Gate Bridge, and Lexa can barely see a single stripe of orange.

“How the hell do they get fancy pictures of the bridge? It almost always looks just like this!” Lexa voices this concern to Clarke, who just laughs.

“That’s what photoshop was invented for!”

Lexa brings a tennis ball, which she throws far into the water. Atticus leaps from the shore, overtaking the other dogs before swimming back and depositing the slimy prize at her feet. Clarke snorts at Lexa’s disgusted expression, falling backwards onto the sand.

They walk along the beach, watching Atticus bounce about in the icy waves. Sometimes, their hands brush against each other, and they linger. Static courses between them momentarily before they pull apart.

The wind whips both of their hair. Lexa can hardly see Clarke’s face through a whirl of gold curls.

“My hair always gets so frizzy in this wind, I hate it”

Lexa thinks she’s never looked more beautiful.

* * *

One night after Clarke has been staying with her for a month, Lexa is up late, staring at the ceiling, when she hears the tell-tale signs of paws clicking on hardwood floor. She blinks and sits up in bed. Her window is wide open and she can hear the ever-present sounds of traffic. From the crack under her bedroom door, Lexa knows the kitchen light is turned on.

_Clarke._

She hears a rustle. Muted, secretive. Her curiosity blooms. Lexa is up in a second, eyes already adjusted to the dark, socked feet silent as she quickly pulls on a sweater and jeans. She hears the front door open and close softly, and if she had been anyone else the noise would have gone unnoticed. But this is her home, and Lexa recognizes the squeak coming from the loose plank right next to the shoe rack. She slips into the hallway and opens the front door. Lexa peeks around slowly, and sees the elevator closing - Clarke must already be inside.

She dashes to the stairwell. Lexa’s footsteps echo loudly on the concrete as she takes the stairs two at a time. When she reaches the ground floor, she peers through the small lobby window until the familiar grey hoodie and large backpack come into sight. Her heart pounds and she’s breathless with excitement. Clarke was a mystery and she was magnetically drawn to the thrill of the chase. An addiction she thought was lost after Costia. But she’s back in the game, 2:00 am, hair ruffled, stealthily tracking a hooded figure down the streets of San Francisco. Lexa is no longer a teenager, but a grown woman. Her body thrums as if she were 19 again, drinking her parent’s scotch on rooftops. But Costia is not with her, and her absence is what grounds her in reality.

Clarke moves swiftly along the deserted sidewalk, successfully navigating a route devoid of people. Every once in a while, a car passes and illuminates the girl in a flash of headlights. Atticus’ intimidating figure pads on beside her. Lexa stays far enough away, trailing the wall, so as to not attract the dog's’ attention.

All at once, Clarke stops. Lexa skidds her feet on the pavement, dodging behind a lamppost. When she looks up, Clarke is gone. _Shit._  
She has no idea where she is, but her mind is already retracing the route. She could get home, if needed. But the blonde can’t be far…

“You really thought I wouldn’t notice?”

The voice is right next to Lexa’s ear and she jumps, head jolting at an awkward angle. The blonde’s eyebrow is cocked, and even Atticus is gazing at her with a skeptical look. She didn’t even think dogs could have that expression.

“Hello, Clarke.”

“Look, I’m going to work on a mural. You can go back, just take a left on Hawthorne-”

“I’m coming.”

“I don’t need a babysitter, Lexa. This isn’t the first time I’ve painted at night.”

“Of course you can handle yourself. That’s not why I want to stay.”

She considers it for a moment. “Alright.”

Lexa follows the blonde down an alley. They pass a sleeping homeless man, curled up beside a dumpster. The moon lights their path as they meander through back alleyways, occasionally hearing the scuffle of rats or feral cats. Clarke eventually stops at a dead end wall.

“Here we are.”

It’s completely blank. Lexa looks sideways at the blonde, wondering if it’s a joke. The other girl sighs.

“Not everything is visible on the surface,” she comments, reaching behind her and tugging.

Lexa’s mouth parts in shock as the cement blocks fall away - nothing but squares on fabric - and a large mural is revealed. It’s a sunset, and two distant figures stand, teetering at the end of a jagged cliff. The painting spans upward several feet - she has to crane her neck to see the top.

“Wow.”

Clarke smirks. “Can’t have anyone seeing it until I’m done. Now that you’re here, make yourself useful.” She presses a flashlight into Lexa’s hand.

The hours pass. The night is cold, and the sounds of traffic come and go.

I wish I brought another jacket, Lexa sighs, tucking her chin into the sweatshirt. Atticus pads over and flops down next to her. She buries her face in his thick mane.

I’ve never considered myself a dog fan, before now.

When she looks up, Clarke is watching her with an unreadable expression. Her brush is paused midstroke, and the yellow paint dribbles over the concrete. She turns away as Lexa looks up.

All at once, Lexa feels like she has a safe place to land; a thought which is absurd considering they are currently doing something illegal. Clarke is not stable. Neither is Lexa. They are dynamic, changing, challenging each other. Voices raised in debate over every single detail. The nights Lexa woke with a start to an eerily quiet house, as if she is alone - but the next time she opens her eyes Clarke is there, stretching in front of the window. She wonders if this is where Clarke goes, seeking dark corners of the city to create blooms of color over dull concrete walls. Both of them circling, silently daring the other to move first. It is exciting, it is dangerous. Both of them are addicted to thrill-seeking, and they can provide an outlet for each other.

Lexa is awestruck by her friend’s artistic process. She notes with a pang how similar it is to the way Costia would get lost in her violin, but Clarke is different in many ways. She is off in her own world, blind to anything but her palette and canvas. She frowns a lot and forgets her hand is covered in paint - her clothes and hair are streaked with blue and green. She looks blissfully content. They do not speak other than the occasional “Can you shine the light over there?” Lexa’s legs have cramped up from her position, crouched on top of a stack of crates. The flashlight is a dead weight in her hand.

Finally, as the sky dims from deep blue to purple, Clarke straightens up.

“Done,” she states, glancing toward Lexa. A predawn glow lights up the painting, exposing small details Lexa had missed in the night’s shadows. She recognizes the formerly nondescript figures with a start.

“Is that..?”

“Yes.” Clarke says simply, confirming that the mural depicts the two of them. She turns away, but Lexa would do anything to see her face in that moment.

“It’s beautiful, Clarke.”

The girl hurriedly packs up her backpack, screwing the lids tightly on the rusted tubes of paint. Lexa reminds herself to get Clarke new ones, and find a way to give them so she would accept.

As Clarke slings the bag over the her shoulder, Lexa notices a smudge of green paint on her cheek. Like a reflex, she raises a hand a swipes the pad of her thumb across the blonde’s face. All it does is smear the color further, but Clarke still smiles. It leaves her confused and longing - for what exactly, she is unsure. Lexa follows Clarke out of the alley and onto the swiftly populating street, wondering what piece of the puzzle she’s missing.

* * *

Clarke and Lexa sit on her couch, turned to each other. It is already 4:00 am, but neither could sleep when they returned. Clarke made them tea as pastel shades of sunrise filled the loft. Tension buzzes between them, and Lexa is reminded of the kiss she has tried to push out of her memory. It was useless to dwell on such hopeless things. She knows Clarke could never see her in that way.

Clarke holds a large mug of peppermint tea, sighing as she smells it. The stream curls around her face in the low living room light. Her hair is dark with moisture, still damp from the shower she took after they got back. She is at ease and Lexa curses herself as she breaks the calm.

“Why are you on the streets, Clarke? It doesn’t suit you.”

She smiles, and though beautiful, it is bitter - Lexa’s heart aches for the girl. “What can I say? I’m a teenage runaway, doing what I thought was best for the greater good. My parents had money; that was never a problem. My father was the best dad anyone could ever ask for. My mom was, is, a doctor. An amazing one. I haven't talked to her in a while. I was high school valedictorian. Went to Stanford for pre-med, grad school at Harvard.” Clarke pauses, eyes glazed over with memories.

Lexa doesn’t comment on the past tense she uses with her father. “You’re brilliant, Clarke. So why aren’t you a doctor?”

“I dropped out after about a year of medical school,” she girl swallows painfully, but her voice remains steady. “Things happened, bad things. It was an accident, but in reality… It was my fault. If it weren't for me, maybe things would have been different. If it weren’t for me, they’d still be here.”

She is shaking, minutely. The hot liquid sloshes slightly in the cup, responding to her hand’s tremors. Lexa leans forward, but Clarke leans back. She withdraws her hand quickly. Lexa can do nothing but watch. Atticus pads over and she runs a hand over his large head.

“So I left. It is so much easier for them, to not have to look into my face each day and be reminded of what I’ve done. They are hurt because of me, and I bear it so they don’t have to. If only I could've done something… I was training to be a doctor. I still couldn’t save anyone, but I tried. I tried for months but Wells wouldn’t wake up. I called my mom from the bus station. Left her a voicemail, saying I was taking a break and that I’d be back soon. I turned off my phone soon after and left it in my car. That was months ago.” Tears stream silently across her face. She is trying so hard to hold it together.

“Do you miss them?”

“Every single day.”

“Then why not go back? Why don’t you call?”

“I can’t,” her voice cracks, and this time Lexa takes initiative.

“I told you once that I lost someone close to me,” she pauses. “Costia. I loved her,” she looks back at Clarke, judging her reaction. This is the first time she has spoken about her in such a long time, maybe since the funeral. “It’s so simple, when you say it like that. Costia, a girlfriend. Nothing more. But oh, she was so much more than that. She was everything - but even when you love someone, it’s not always enough.”

“Is it ever enough?”

Lexa looks at Clarke for a long moment before replying. “Maybe sometimes.”

* * *

Lexa wakes up to Atticus barking, loudly, somewhere nearby. She must have fallen asleep on the couch while talking to Clarke, for her limbs are intertwined with the other girl’s. The blonde’s head rests on her shoulder, and Lexa’s arms curl around her. For once she is comfortable and warm, the morning sun filtering through her window and slowly bringing consciousness with it.

“Turn it off,” she groans, turning her head away from the bright window.

“Before sunrise he’s your son,” Clarke replies, not even opening her eyes.

The moment is ruined when a loud voice booms in the supposed-empty apartment.

“Hey, little sister! And friend!”

Lexa opens her eyes, immediately recognizing the voice, her arms flailing as she struggles to stand. Clarke awakens at the sudden motion, blinking groggily as she tumbles onto the floor. The girl groans at the impact, and then again when Lexa rolls off the couch and lands on top of her.

She feels a rough tongue on her face and flips over (accidentally elbowing Clarke in the face) to push Atticus out of the way.

Some guard dog.

Anya watches them, eyebrow raised. Her smirk is ecstatic and mischievous. Lexa knows her sister will never, not in a million years, believe “It’s not what it looks like, I swear!” Lexa will never live this one down.

“Hey, Anya! How’s it going? This is-” She gestures at the blonde girl sitting on the floor beside her, rubbing her eyes. “Clarke.”

“Hello, Clarke. I’m Lexa’s older sister. Also, I suppose this is as good a time as any to tell you - to put it simply - if you hurt her, I’ll destroy you.” Clarke looks only slightly alarmed.

“Duly noted,” she retorts, shooting a casual smile right back at Anya. Lexa has to admire her versatility. She can’t have been awake more than 40 seconds, and she is already getting threats.

“Anya,” she grits through her teeth. “Do you mind?”

“Sorry, I actually thought you’d be at work already. You do know it’s Friday, right?” she questions as Lexa’s eyes widen in alarm. “Anyway, I’m staying with mom but I have a date tonight in the city so I was exploring some old haunts.”

“That doesn’t explain why you broke into my apartment”

“You leave the key under the doormat. Come on, who does that anymore? Also, I had to piss. Public bathrooms are gross.”

Lexa feels, rather than hears, Clarke grin next to her. “Who’s side are you on?”

The blonde girl attempts to sober up quickly, but it doesn’t work; the sparkle remains in her bright blue eyes. Lexa could drown in them.

Anya interrupts, coughing. “I have a date tonight. We’re going to some party in Pacific Heights. You two should come - it’ll be really fun!”

Lexa is about to decline, but Clarke beats her to it. “Sure, we’ll be there.”

Her mouth drops open, and she stares at her friend incredulously.

“I like her,” Anya laughs in surprise. “See you tonight!”

When Anya finally leaves, several minutes later, Clarke turns to Lexa with a sheepish smile.  
“Hey, think I could borrow a dress?”

Lexa just groans, falling back onto the couch.

_This girl will be my downfall._

* * *

Lexa doesn’t remember whose idea it was to start drinking. All she knows is the sky outside is dark, and they are sitting in her large walk in closet, clothes strewn around them, with an open bottle of red wine beside them on the floor. Lexa has only had a few sips, but Clarke can truly hold her alcohol. The bottle is almost empty.

Will she never fail to surprise me?

Clarke stumbles down the hallway in various dresses, swaying like a runway model. One hand holds a somehow perpetually-full wine glass, and her eyes never leave Lexa’s. She looks ridiculous, but it’s somehow charming. Her guard is dropping considerably. It makes her look younger, more carefree - Lexa is in awe.

She tries on a light blue dress, and Lexa knows she’s staring, but she can’t help it. It’s Clarke’s fault, really, because her eyes pair perfectly with the silk. The dress, if Lexa remembers correctly, was ridiculously overpriced. She’s not even sure why bought it in the first place, but she’s not complaining now because it looks so good on Clarke. It puts her own forest green dress to shame. She looks too professional, but she’s not about to go change again.

“You look. Great,” Clarke states, grinning down at her. The wine glass wobbles precariously in her hand. Her face could light up a room.

“As do you.”

 

The party seems tame, by Anya’s standards. On the surface it was all very Great Gatsby. Anya had been incredibly popular in high school and was always invited to gatherings and raves. They drove there, Clarke manning the radio from the passenger seat. The blonde is hardly drunk anymore, just slightly buzzed. She props her feet on the dashboard with a grin, ignoring Lexa’s half-hearted glare.

Like Anya had said, the party took place at an old mansion in Pacific Heights. This was some of the best real estate San Francisco had to offer, but Lexa feels almost stifled in the formal atmosphere.

They enter the home, someone instantly taking their coats, and are ushered further inside. Soft piano music fills the grand foyer. Their heels echo loudly on the smooth marble floor as they quickly climb the winding staircase. Lexa has to hold back a scoff. The things rich people have.

Clarke handles herself with ease around the obnoxiously rich crowd. They adore her, complimenting her dress - she winks each time someone mentions it - and Lexa tries to ignore the fluttering in her stomach. Clarke walks beside her as if she’s been doing this her entire life. Lexa remembers with a jolt that she indeed has; growing up in a wealthy neighborhood meant she must’ve attended these events constantly. No wonder her actions seem second nature as she introduces them both to countless guests. Lexa let’s the blonde take over, only joining the conversation when needed.

“Are you two, like, together?” questions a young women, her arm around a man old enough to be her father. Maybe even grandfather. Lexa wants to remember to tell Clarke this later, just to see her smile.

“No, just friends.” Lexa cuts in, grabbing her elbow and pulling away. Clarke shoots the couple an apologetic smile and a quick goodbye as she follows. Neither of them mention the question, but it hangs heavy in the air.

They only spot Anya once, across the ballroom with a group of people. She waves them over, chatting with Clarke as if they’ve known each other forever.  
“Glad you too could make it! Love the dress, Clarke.”

“You look stunning yourself, Anya. And it’s nice to meet you-” she extends her hand - then freezes. “Doctor Jackson?”

Lexa looks up quickly. Clarke’s right, it is the good doctor. She hardly recognizes him without the long white coat.

“Wait, how do you know each other?” Anya glances between them, puzzled.  
Lexa feels the blood drain from her face. Shit. She steps in, swiftly ending the conversation.  
“It’s a long story, I’ll tell you later. We gotta go.”

She and Clarke hurry off, hoping Anya and Jackson won’t question them further. They find the first unlocked door and look around - a vacant sitting room - before rushing inside.

“Fuck, why are things so complicated?” Lexa slams the door behind her and bangs her head against the wood.  
“This is actually bad. We told him that you were my only living relative! Anya’s your SISTER. Hello! Another relative for Clarke! Another sign we lied!” She starts to pace in front of Lexa, wringing her hands. “Why didn’t I give a fake name? We can’t have him questioning us. Shit, what if I got you in trouble?”

“I’ll handle it. Nothing will happen to us.” She tries to put the blonde’s mind at rest, though she herself is anxious, and thinks it might be working when Clarke takes a deep breath at the reassurance.

“I believe you, Lexa. I need some air.”

They snoop around the room, finding a door leading onto a small balcony. The night is cold and the balcony is relatively empty. Neither of them mind the weather. Clarke watches the Golden Gate Bridge and vast, dark bay. Her eyes reflect the glean of innumerable car taillights. Lexa doesn’t spare it a passing glance; what’s the point, if Clarke’s beside her?

Clarke steps closer. Her breath smells sweet, like champagne. It makes Lexa dizzy, though she is the sober one. She feels intoxicated when Clarke stands mere inches away, a challenge in her gaze.

“How about we see if we can find, ya know,” she jerks her head behind her, to the groups of people, “somewhere a bit more exciting.”

Lexa raises her eyebrows, but she doesn’t think she could deny the blonde if she tried. Clarke’s smile is brilliant, even in the dark, and she can’t tear her eyes away.

That is how, almost an hour later, Lexa walks into a UC Berkeley house party. She feels 19 again - only this time, it’s Clarke’s shoulders that brush against hers, not Costia’s. She pushes the bitter memories away before they engulf her.

The music can be heard even as they turn into the cul-de-sac.

“Graduate students’ parties rival fraternities’,” Clarke remarks, sliding out of the front seat.

“You never got this at med school?”

“Maybe. I was always so busy; the last time I partied hard was probably Stanford graduation night? Don’t be fooled, Ivy League kids would surprise you.”

All too late, Lexa realizes they’re probably dressed a bit too fancy.

“Shit, look at us,” she points to the silk dress. “We look like we’re going to a ball!”

Clarke laughs so hard she almost cries. “Too late now, they'll just have to deal with it.” With that, she stomps into the house, footsteps only slightly unsteady, and Lexa has no choice but to follow.

Their clothes earn a few stares, but most people move on quickly in their alcohol fueled haze.

“Lexa,” Clarke grabs her and holds on, shouting close to her ear. “I’m gonna get something to drink - sorry for leaving you as DD.”

“It is no trouble. No offense, but I’d rather not have you drive my car like this.”

“Ouch, I’m wounded. I thought you trusted me.”

“I do trust you, Clarke.”

She just smiles and disappears into the crowd, Lexa watching her go with a small smile. She takes a step forward, intent on finding a corner to stand in, and crashes headfirst into brunette girl wearing a form fitting scarlet dress. Today is just not her day.

“Watch where you’re going! I almost spilled beer, and this dress cost like, half my salary - oh fuck. Hey boss!”

Raven Reyes, exceptional mechanic and graduate student intern for Ark Industries, gapes at her like a fish. Lexa has never seen a jaw drop in real life. _Check that off my bucket list,_ she muses. At this point, she isn’t even surprised. The night had already taken one too many strange turns.

“Hello, Raven. You are actually the second person I’ve unexpectedly run into today. Though I suppose I should’ve known, Cal is your school. It used to be mine, but that was way back.”

Raven smiles tightly, recovering from the initial shock. She tries to hide the alcohol subtly behind her. “Naw, you were here only a few years ago. Don't make yourself sound so old.”

“This is highly unprofessional of me.”

“Would you like to leave? Doors’ thata way”

“May I remind you, Reyes, I am giving you your salary; half of which you spent on a dress,” she smirks.

“I might’ve exaggerated. Just a bit. Wait, why are you here?”

“Raven?”

Lexa is wrong - she does, in fact, still have the ability to be surprised.

It’s Clarke, holding a tall cup of something pink and fruity. Raven turns on her heel and gives an animalistic screech before jumping onto the blonde. The drink is nearly knocked out of her hand, but she looks too happy to care.

“Holy shit, Clarke! What are the odds? How's it going, babe?”

Clarke laughs, hugging Raven back fiercely. “It’s going great! Are you at grad school here?”

“Yep!” Raven looks back, as if just remembering Lexa. “This is Clarke, my undergrad roommate at Stanford. Clarke, this is my boss. That sounds really weird. We didn’t, like, come together or anything…”

Neither Lexa nor Clarke can keep the slight smirk off their faces.

“How do you do, stranger?” Clarke drawls.

Raven’s eyes narrow, and her eyes dart between the two of them. “I know that look, Griffin. Wait,” her mouth almost drops. “Do you two know each other?”

“It is a mystery,” Lexa replies, earning a chuckle of disbelief from Raven. Really, she should make bad jokes more often.

“Ok, well. Griffin and I have some serious catching up to do,” she links arms with Clarke, and Lexa tries to smother the spark of jealousy. It was not her place. “Whatever, stranger things have happened. First, why are you wearing those ridiculous outfits? Jesus, it’s just a college party. Lighten up! I might have have some clothes you can borrow upstairs.”

Clarke nods in agreement. Raven leads them around the masses of students swaying to the music and up a small staircase. She is almost at the top of the stairs when she hears an exclamation. “Gross, get the fuck out!”

Lexa’s just in time to see Raven drag a boy out of a room by his ear, and a red-faced girl scurrying behind.

“They were about to fuck on MY bed? Excuse my language, Heda. Lexa. Boss. God, what do I call you?”

“Lexa is suitable.”

“Right, okay. This is so weird. Change out of those monkey suits,” Raven snorts, throwing a ball of clothes are her face. “I’ll be downstairs. Gotta play the good host. See you in a bit!”

Lexa raises an eyebrow at the outfit Raven picked for her. “What’s this scrap of fabric?”  
“Oh, it’s just a crop top. Try it on.”

Style must’ve changed since she was in high school. Lexa suddenly feels out of place, even though she is only a few years older than Clarke. She slips out of her dress and pulls the crop top over her head. Clarke gulps beside her, and she wonders why. Lexa walks over to Raven’s mirror. The shirt barely covers her bra and exposes practically everything else.

“Looks great,” Clarke’s voice sounds oddly strained, and when Lexa turns, the blonde keeps her eyes fixed on the ceiling. Her cheeks turn a dull red.

Lexa is about to ask why she’s acting so weird when the bedroom door swings open, and some guy peers inside.

“Oops, sorry ladies. Carry on.” He flashes a guilty smile, then tugs along the girl beside him.

Clarke turns away, quickly changing into new clothes. The get-up is similar to Lexa’s, but an obnoxious shade of neon green and hot pink. She sighs, smiling fondly.

“I swear, Raven did this on purpose.”

They walk out together, music pounding in their ears as soon as the door opens. The entire first floor is filled with people dancing and a giant keg. She spots a pool outside, but few individuals have dared to brave the water. Lexa turns to her friend.

“Let’s do this.”

* * *

Lexa doesn’t know how long passed. Clarke knows how to dance - she and Raven are currently twirling all over the place together.

Raven had sought them out as soon as they left her bedroom, slinging her arm around Clarke. “Come on, Griffin. Party with me, for old time's sake. I know you’re still a beast at bodyshots.”

She tries again to smother the spark of jealousy when Raven slaps Clarke’s ass and she pushes her away half-heartedly, laughing. It was not her place to be envious over Clarke.

“So, what’d you major in?”  
Lexa glances up - a girl has moved to stand beside her, swaying to the beat of the music.

“Aerospace engineering.”

“Oh, talk nerdy to me.” She opens and shuts her eyes in an exaggerated motion, and gives a small smirk.

“Sorry, do you have something in your eye?”

The girl is taken aback for a moment. No, I’m fine. Wanna check out the upstairs bedrooms?”

Lexa looks over, slightly annoyed. She just wants to watch Clarke lose herself in the music. The girl - she can’t remember her name, Mary or Maddie or something - is stepping closer.

“No, I’ve already been up there.” Lexa presses her lips together in a thin line. Her eyes are so, so close. They’re a pretty shade of green-brown, hazel. Beautiful eyes. But the ones she really wants to see are blue. Lexa steps forward, holding her hands in front of her. The girl is forced to fall back.“What are you doing, Maddie?”

“I - What the fucks your problem? And it’s Melody. Bitch,” she retorts, storming off.

Lexa notices someone’s presence beside her, but doesn’t look up. She knows who it is. “She looks upset.”

Raven let’s out a bark of laughter, and Clarke rolls her eyes before replying. “Yeah, just a bit. Maybe because she was trying to makeout with you and you blew her off?”

Eyebrows raised, she turns to Clarke. “Really? How did you know?”

“It was kinda obvious, boss,” Raven pipes up. “You should’ve gone. I could've gotten some great blackmail material.”

“Your comments are always appreciated, Raven.”

A fast paced song comes on, blasting through the speakers.

“Lexa, let’s dance!” Clarke exclaims, not waiting for a reply before grabbing her hand and diving into the crowd. It is sweaty and boiling hot, too many bodies in a tight space. The lights are dim and Lexa only focuses on the blonde dancing in front of her. She raises her arms high above her head, the electric pink of her shirt shining brightly.

“What can I say? The Bears knew how to party,” Clarke leans forward, her lips brushing Lexa’s ear. Lexa shivers, but it’s definitely not from the cold. She knows Clarke only came so close to be heard over the music - nothing more. She let’s herself get pulled around by the girl, spinning around the room. Lexa feels like she’s standing on top of a giant cliff, with only one way to go; but still, she hesitates. With Clarke, she wants to step over the edge, but she doesn’t know where that will take her. She doesn’t know how Clarke would react. So they carefully spin in circles together on the dance floor, each silently challenging the other to move first. The air crackles like the calm before the storm.

It is neither of them who finally breaks the tension.

“Bro, that’s some sick ink!” A rough voice sounds close to Lexa’s ear, and she whips around to see a tall guy standing over her. His breath reeks of cheap beer.

Lexa has almost forgotten that this short shirt exposes all of her back tattoos. They are elaborate, spanning from her shoulder blades down, and only bear significance to herself. She hasn’t worn anything that reveals them in many years.

She feels a moist palm land in the middle of her back. Immediately she jerks away, ready to bite his head off.

Clarke beats her too it. She steps in front of Lexa, and though his physical stature exceeds her in height, her presence dwarfs him.

“Don’t touch her,” Clarke growls. She places a soft hand on Lexa’s side, below the crop top and right next to her tattoo. It is a protective action, a claim of sorts, and the contact with her bare skin sends a thrill through Lexa. If it had been anyone else, she would have brushed them off with a snarl - but for Clarke, all Lexa can do is try her best not to quiver at the proximity.

Clarke steps forward, and he steps back. The man fidgets, letting out a slight laugh and glancing around nervously. He is alarmed by the ferocity and dangerous glint in her eyes. Anyone with any sense would leave immediately, and that is what he does, fading back into the crowd.

“I can look out for myself, you know,” Lexa says, only slightly indignant. She was strangely surprised that Clarke had taken a stand for her.

“I know you can,” she smiles. It is soft, and all for Lexa. Her heart jolts. “I’m going to say bye to Raven. I think it’s time we get this show on the road.”

* * *

“You look like a wet cat,” Clarke manages to gasp before laughter overtakes her. She rolls off the couch and onto the floor, clutching her knees to her chest. Lexa tries to glare angrily, she really does, but it’s hard when the blonde is sprawled over her rug and shaking with mirth.

Lexa glances down at Atticus instead. Several days have passed since the party. Conversation at work with Raven is still extremely awkward.

The day had dawned sunny and bright, and Lexa had decided to go for a long run with Atticus to celebrate the good weather. She hadn’t been counting on the incoming storm that began once they were several miles from the house. The dog pants, looking up at her.

Stupid dog, this is all your fault.

His entire body, all 160 pounds (Lexa would know, they took Atticus to the vet for a check up last week and Clarke had gnawed on her nails like an anxious mother the entire time) is covered in mud. Not little splashes of mud like you see in cartoons, either - this is mud that reeks of cow shit and dead things. It’s disgusting and caked onto his luxurious fur. Lexa herself has splatters on her leggings and tennis shoes. The rest of her body is soaked to the bone. She shivers, wrapping the thin windbreaker tighter.

“Atti, baby, you look like that stinky mud spirit from Spirited Away,” Clarke continues. The dog perks up at his name and, to Lexa’s horror, leaves the doorway and pads over to Clarke. With each step, dirt covers her floor.

(They had a Studio Ghibli movie marathon the night before. Clarke had fallen asleep with her head on Lexa’s shoulder sometime during Kiki’s Delivery Service, and had gradually shifted down into her lap. If Lexa had spent hours, long after the movie ended, carding her hands through the blonde’s hair, it was no one’s business but her own.)

“That’s what you get for going running. With my dog. Arn’t pets supposed to turn out like their owners?” She remarks, stuffing another handful of chips into her mouth.

(Salt and vinegar chips were Clarke’s favorite. They seemed to have a never-ending supply, no doubt thanks to Lexa’s frequent grocery shopping trips.)

“I had no idea it was going to rain, Clarke. And Leonberger’s like Atticus need extensive amounts of psychical extension, regardless of your nonexistent exercise habits.”

Clarke mutters something along the lines of “I’ll show you physical extension” before blushing softly. Lexa hardly has time to register the meaning of that before Clarke is standing and stalking towards her.

“Jesus, Lexa, are you trying to catch pneumonia? Strip.”

“Usually, ladies sound more enthusiastic when I get that line,” she parrots Clarke’s own words back to her.

The blonde rolls her eyes, but her brow furrows in worry as she grumbles. “Fine, I’ll do it myself.”

Clarke tugs at the collar of Lexa’s shirt, standing so close that she can see the various shades of blue in her eyes. Lexa struggles to breathe normally as the other girl proceeds to strip her top half - first windbreaker, then tank top - until she’s left in nothing but a sports bra. She shivers, goosebumps appearing wherever Clarke’s fingers make contact with her skin.

Clarke leaves briefly and returns with a large, fluffy towel. The girl grins slyly, slinging the towel around Lexa’s shoulders and yanking. Lexa hardly has a second to process this new development before she’s jolted forward, legs fumbling to regain balance, and almost crashes straight into Clarke. The towel is pulled taunt around Lexa’s back and Clarke holds the ends tightly. She can feel the girl’s hot breath on her damp neck, and Lexa suddenly feels very, very claustrophobic.

“We need to wash your dog,” Lexa ventures, surprised at the steadiness of her voice.

I must be getting my period or something. I’ve been feeling really weird lately.

The blonde spares a glance at Atticus, who is currently dripping mud and slime and God knows what else. “Yeah, but where?”

“I have a hot tub.”

It takes less than 5 minutes for Lexa to realize that this had been a grave mistake.

Lexa leans precariously over the edge of the bath, working shampoo into Atticus’s fur. Clarke slides in after him, fully clothed in her pajamas, but Lexa’s not about to get on that level. She’s perfectly fine staying out of the water with only her arms submerged in the tub. Her hands are covered in clumps of mud and fur and she winces, thinking about what this will do to her drain. Her mouth feels oddly parched when Clarke half-rises out of the water, transparent white t-shirt exposing her bright pink bra.

It had hearts on it. What kind of adult has hearts on their bra?

Clarke, apparently.

“Pass me the shampoo, will you?” Lexa nods in reply, reaching behind her to grab the bottle. It was an organic oatmeal pet-friendly formula that Lexa insisted on buying; the veterinarian said it was the best and most nourishing soap on the market.

Clarke reaches up for the shampoo as Lexa stretches her arm across the hot tub to meet her. The blonde loosens her grip on Atticus’s collar for a millisecond to grasp the bottle, but the dog is prepared.

Really, Lexa should've seen this coming.

A mass of sopping fur springs from the tub, sudsy water sloshing over Lexa and the rest of the bathroom. Her hand slips against the newly-wet rim of the tub and she strikes her other hand out for balance. Her attempt is proved futile, however, when Atticus bowls into her shoulder in a desperate scramble to flee the bathroom. Lexa can only keep her eyes on Clarke’s horrified gaze before she is plunging into the tub.

The water roars deafeningly in her ears and it takes Lexa a moment to register the situation. She, by some wonderful twist of fate, has managed to fall completely on top of Clarke. Her hand is crushed between their bodies and is somehow curled around Clarke’s boobs.

She tries to backtrack, put some distance between them, but her hands are currently unavailable to assist her and she can merely writhe against the blonde. All that manages to do is push them even closer, if that is even possible. Suddenly Clarke’s hand, which had been gripping the side of the tub in an attempt to stabilize them, gives way. She plunges lower in the water, mouth wide open in the beginnings of a yelp. When Lexa looks upward, Clarke’s face bangs gracelessly into her’s.

She freezes, brain lagging behind, as Clarke’s lips bump against her own. It is not gentle; Clarke’s teeth catch on Lexa’s lip and she tastes blood, tangy and coppery. She can’t bring herself to care, though, not when Clarke’s mouth is still practically over hers. Clarke is so close that Lexa could count the droplets of water on the blonde’s eyelashes, but she has bigger things to worry about. Like the fact Clarke’s eyes are turning darker. Lexa knows she’s only imaging that the girl is pushing back against Lexa; their noses brushing is merely an accident. She still is unable to move, breath coming fast, and all she can see is Clarke panting, open mouth, against her bottom lip. Lexa doesn’t understand, but waits for the blonde to jerk away.

When Atticus barks, several rooms away, Lexa pulls back enough to breathless gasp. “Maybe, uh. We should get your. Dog.”

“That’s a good idea,” Clarke replies, not moving back an inch. Lexa tries, once again, to remove her hand from it’s current position. Her abs ache as she struggles to lift herself further from the blonde’s body, but in doing so only manages to push her splayed fingers further over the bright pink bra. Clarke’s eyes go wide and she gasps softly before letting out a stream of swears.

“Did I hurt you?” Lexa cringes, cursing herself.

Clarke blinks, staring at her like she’s grown two heads. She swallows before replying in a tight, raspy voice: “No, Lexa. You didn’t hurt me.”

“Oh. Okay. Good.” she tries to look aloof and dignified, but that is hard to manage while pulling your hand away from your friend’s boobs. Lexa wobbly straightens up. She hears a chortle behind her and spins around as fast as she can while still holding the tub like a lifetime.

Clarke is nearly in stitches, head thrown back and reveling a long stripe of pale skin. Lexa averts her eyes, a strange sensation churning in her lower stomach - she must’ve eaten something weird. The blonde is pointing at her hair, and when Lexa reaches up, she finds a giant clump of bubbles onto of her head.

She knows how ridiculous they must look, two fully clothed adults covered in bubble bath suds. But it had been a long time since Lexa had done anything like this - probably when she had been a kid, still taking baths with Anya and pretending they were pirates on the open sea. Lexa reaches up and throws a handful of bubbles straight into Clarke’s face.

The reaction is comical; mouth gaping in surprise and shock, and then spitting out soap that unfortunately got on her tongue. Lexa gives her a smile smile, and Clarke glares back with squinted eyes.

“Oh it’s on, Lexa Heda,” is the only warning Clarke gives before splashing a giant wave of water towards her.

It hits Lexa and she splutters, tasting soap. Clarke is already climbing out of the jacuzzi.

“Whoever catches the stupid dog first doesn’t have to take out the trash for a week.”

“He’s not that stupid, he’s actually pretty smart.”

“Lexa, are you defending Atticus?”

“Yes, actually. He may be my favorite individual in the house right now.”

“Do you accept the challenge?”

“I do not see the point-" She is abruptly cut off when another shower of soapy water hits her face. Lexa growls, wiping suds out of her eyes. That’s it. She strikes a hand through the water, prompting a squeal from Clarke, and dashes out the bathroom door with the blonde sliding behind her.

It feels like she’s a kid again, playing games with Anya. But she is older now. She sprints down the hallway, feet leaving prints on the floor. She can’t bring herself to dwell on that because Clarke doesn’t relent for a second. The blonde, like Lexa, has a serious competitive streak, and both are flaring at the moment. She dashes after her, and only Lexa’s years of track and field training allow her to stay one step ahead. She spots Atticus first. He is running in circles around the kitchen table.

“Atticus, come,” Lexa states in her most commanding voice. The dog perks his ears up and he cocks his head towards her. Must to her chagrin, he doesn’t come any closer.

Clarke’s feet slip on the wooden floor and she slides into Lexa, whose hands immediately come up to steady her hips. She drops them immediately. Clarke regains her balance and bends down, cooing softly to the dog. “Atti! Come here baby, who’s a good boy? You’re a good boy, you’re the best boy!”

Atticus looks like he’s about to die of excitement, his giant body wriggling against the floor. His tail thumps loudly against a kitchen chair and he barks once before lumbering towards them. Clarke squawks as Atticus jumps right past her and dashes back into the hallway. Lexa doesn’t wait a moment before running after him, whistling sharply. The dog freezes so quickly that she almost runs into him, and her mouth goes wide with surprise for a moment. Lexa quickly grabs his collar and turns towards Clarke with raised eyebrows.

“You traitor,” the blonde growls at her dog. He merely woofs in response, wiggling closer to her. Lexa realizes she’s grinning, wide and happy, and wonders when was the last time she felt this carefree.

Since Costia, she knows.

* * *

**_‘Dashing through the snow_ **

**_I_ ** **_n a one horse open sleigh’_ **

Lexa rolls over in bed, clutching a pillow over her ears. She hears her friend’s voice raised in harmony with the loud christmas carol.

“Clarke,” she groans. The girl doesn’t hear her, of course.

_**‘O'er the fields we go** _

_**Laughing all the way’** _

“Clarke!” she says, louder this time. Immediately she hears a muffled curse and a crash, followed by stomping feet. Her bedroom door creaks open and the blonde peaks in, trying to cover her smile.

“Hey, Lexa!”

“What are you doing up so early,” she mumbles, glancing at the clock by her bed. 7:30 AM. On a Sunday?

“Lexa, do you know what day it is?” Clarke says. She looks like she’s quivering with barley contained excitement

“Umm. December 1st?”

“Bingo,” the blonde grins, walking over to Lexa’s bed and jumping on the edge. “It’s Christmas first!”

The impact jolts the mattress and Lexa growls before pulling the comforter up to her chin. She’s only wearing a skimpy tank top underneath. “Clarke, there’s no such thing as Christmas fir-“

Her response desolves into a hiss as Clarke waltzes over to her window and flings the shutters open. The room is flooded with light, and Lexa cringes back at the sensory overload. At least Clarke has the decency to look slightly guilty, even if it’s only for half a second.

“So. Who want’s apple cider?”

 

Lexa was naïve in thinking the warm autumn weather she had become accustomed to would stay. She shivers, stuffing her hands deep inside her fur-lined coat pockets. Lexa’s glad she doesn’t live somewhere where it snows - though beautiful, shoveling ice and slush gets old fast. Lexa just didn’t usually have the time do do things like she used to, when she was a kid.

Some days, Lexa walks to Union Square. It’s a bit out of the way to and from work, but it’s always beautiful, despite the less than desirable temperature. She secretly admires the giant Christmas tree but never thinks to get one for herself. For many years, perhaps since Costia, she hasn’t made a big deal out of the holidays. Her parents respect that; every year, they invite her to come with them to Tahoe for Chistmas, just like the family used to. Every year, Lexa declines and tries to ignore her mothers’ disappointed face. She is busy and cannot afford to take time off - besides, she is rarely home and work is ongoing. She can marvel from afar, and settles for quiet winter evenings alone in her loft.

Of course, Lexa should’ve known Clarke would be a fan of the holidays.

It takes less than 3 days for Clarke to escalate from her early morning dance party. On Monday evening, Lexa lounges in the living room after a long day at work, her back propped against the couch. The loft is strangely quiet and deserted so she takes a moment to breath in the silence.

The front door slams open and in walks Clarke, her cheeks red from the cold, a dark green scarf wrapped around her neck. Lexa tries to ignore how beautifully it contrasts with her light blue eyes, and instead focuses on the bigger detail. Like the fact that Clarke hauls a tiny, pathetic-looking pine tree behind her. It’s brittle and more brown then green, but Clarke grins ear to ear as she holds up the whimpy branch. Lexa can’t find it within herself to say no.

The house has begun to perpetually smell like burnt cookies. In practically everything else, Clarke is a fantastic cook. But when it comes to cookies, it is a disaster. Lexa has lost count of the number of shriveled, mostly black cookies she has pretended to enjoy for Clarke’s sake.

* * *

“Hey, I need to tell you something. And don’t make that face, it’ll give you wrinkles,” Clarke says the moment she walks through the door. It is Friday night; though the two never planned the day, it has become their tradition to spend time together.

Lexa has always known her default face is grumpy; hence her childhood nickname, Eeyore. She tears her eyes away from her laptop and the dizzying graph of data to glare at Clarke, but finds it impossible when she sees the blonde struggling to remove her hoodie.

“Need some help, Clarke?” Lexa remarks, not moving from her position on the bar stool. One of the blonde’s arms is twisted in the fabric, the other emerging from the bottom; all Lexa can see of her head is a small bit of golden hair.

“I’m fine, thanks,” the blonde gives a muted huff, and though her face is hidden, she must be rolling her eyes. Her response loses some of its strength when her arm flaps uselessly at her side, trapped in the jacket.

Lexa rises, smiling to herself, and steps closer. “What did you want to ask, Clarke?” she all but murmurs, standing in front of the slightly shorter girl. She looks ridiculous, but Lexa finds it oddly endearing. She shakes the thought away.

“It can wait. Can you...?” Her response is faint, but her tone directive. Lexa immediately knows what she’s asking, and reaches down to grasp the hoodie’s bottom. Her fingertips brush against soft skin at Clarke’s hip and her heart beats so loudly she’s sure the other girl can hear. She slowly starts to pull it off, over her head, careful to avoid jerking her limbs. The blonde’s undershirt is also riding up, but Lexa has no free hands to pull it down as she tugs the jacket over her arms. The minute her head is free, blue eyes latch onto hers and Lexa cant help glancing at the miles of exposed pale skin.

It’s too much all at once, and Lexa can’t breathe with the blonde’s lips so close to her own but she never wants so step away. Clarke’s hair sticks up in all directions and her shirt is ruffled, dipping low and covering only half her bra. She gazes back with an expression Lexa doesn’t recognize, but sometimes sees on Clarke in the most random moments.

“Am I interrupting something?”

The new voice causes Lexa to spring away, but she notices she moves in front of the girl protectively. She snorts when she recognizes the figure - really, she’s not even surprised.

Raven stands in the ajar front doorway, eyebrow raised in a way only she could pull off. She holds up a bottle of brandy in lieu of greeting, stepping inside.

“Nice place, boss,” Raven remarks, whistling as her eyes scan the wide windows and spacious modern kitchen. “I should've know.”

Lexa doesn’t hear, but she thinks Raven whispers something akin to “nice catch” to Clarke, who blushes softly and smacks her friend.

Lexa raises her eyebrows, waiting for the blonde to turn around. She had some explaining to do.  
“Clarke, is this what you wanted to tell me?”

“Yeah, is it okay if I invite some friends over? You know, like pre-Christmas-”

Her explanation is abruptly cut off when a yelp of joy emerges from the girl currently speeding into the apartment.

“We’re back, bitches!” she shouts, grabbing Clarke and spinning her around. The blonde laughs, overjoyed, before turning to Lexa with an almost guilty smile.

“This is Octavia. Bellamy’s sister. She’s really great.”

Lexa nods and forces herself to give a small smile. Now that Clarke mentions it, the brunette does look familiar. She’s all bony limbs and condensed energy in such a small frame, and Lexa almost fears for the safety of her apartment.

Raven emerges from the kitchen, chomping on one of Clarke’s cookies (Lexa doesn’t miss the way she makes a face and spits it into her hand, but the blonde is thankfully oblivious.) Clarke introduces them, but her commentary is proved unnecessary when Octavia gasps.  
“Oh my god-“  
“Your the reason Bell’s been smiling so much -“

The two stare at each other for one moment before embracing, chuckling as they cling to each other. Lexa and Clarke share a bewildered glance.

Through fits of giggles, they learn the two met at a club a few months ago, dancing to lose themselves after both suffering a bad breakup. They had met on the dancefloor, and spent most of the night together, fending off fuckboys. In their drunken haze, neither had remembered to exchange contact information. About a month later, Octavia was working at her bakery when none other than Raven walked through the door. The two talked until Raven had to go to work (“thanks for making us start so early, boss”) but not before Octavia introduced her friend to her brother.

“What can I say, Blake genes are irresistible,” Raven shrugs. Octavia fakes gagging, but she seems happy.

“I mean, if you hurt him, I won’t hesitate to kill you,” Octavia shrugs, and though Lexa barley knows her, she has no doubt that it’s the truth.

Clarke looks mildly confused, but the two grab her and pull her in. The three hug, and Lexa doesn’t really understand how a group who just met can seem so intimate. She feels strangely left out in her own home, and tries to sneak back into her room - but Clarke is faster.

In a millisecond she’s in front of Lexa, grabbing her arm. “Not tonight. Come on, lets give a tour!”

The set to the blonde’s jaw leaves no room for argument, and Lexa quickly relents.

Clarke tromps through the house, grandly pointing out everything they pass.

“And here, we see a vintage strainer, because pasta is the only thing Lexa can cook well.”  
“Over there’s a mirror. I’ve personally never looked at it, because my beautiful face would crack the glass and it costs more than my entire net worth. I would know, I looked it up on Ebay. Don’t give me that look, Lexa, what if times get tough - I’m kidding, I’m kidding!”

Two can play at this game, Lexa glowers, fed up with Clarke’s jabs.

Lexa steps in front of Clarke, pushing the shorter girl away and addressing the two brunettes. “This is Clarke’s pride and joy. It can not even be called a tree, it’s just a bush.”

“Keep it down, Lexa, or you’ll hurt Philip’s feelings!”

“You named it... Phillip?”

The blonde pushes her aside, faking exasperation, and Lexa can feel the impact of her handprints long after Clarke steps away.

It’s actually fun, more so then Lexa will admit.

She’s curled onto the couch, nestled under a woolen afghan. She nurses her third cup of spiked eggnog - Lexa’s not exactly sure how much must time has passed since Raven and Octavia arrived - and the alcohol sluggishly spreads through her body, warming her from the tips of her toes and leaving a relaxed smile. The sensation of being with others and not completely on guard is foreign, especially with such a relatively large group. It startles her how much she must trust Clarke, and the faith that extends to her friends.

Raven takes up the other end of the couch. They had started talking about work - psychics is the one thing besides Clarke that tied them together - until Octavia groaned at them to “stop being such geeks” and threw dangerously sharp shards of Clarke’s cookies.

Octavia is spread over the floor, face propped in one hand and the other scratching Atticus’s large head. The dog pants gleefully, his feathered tail thumbing against the hardwood floor, and proudly dons the toy reindeer antlers Clarke got him as a pre-christmas gift.

How The Grinch Stole Christmas is playing on Lexa’s flatscreen TV. The decision to watch had been resounding, as everyone agreed it was one of the best christmas movies. Even Lexa, who reluctantly spoke up when Clarke pulled her into the conversation.

On screen, the Grinch poses in front of the mirror in various outfits before tossing the clothes aside and exclaiming “That’s it I’m not going!”

“That sounds like me, getting ready for work,” Lexa muses. It’s not until both Octavia and Raven stare at her that she realizes she spoke out-loud. Raven’s shocked expression morphs into a grin

“She’s not such a tight ass after all, Reyes,” Octavia chuckles, voice muffled because she’s buried her face in Atticus’s neck.

“I am not a tight ass.” Lexa retorts stiffly, before Raven can reply. It is only halfhearted.  
“Whatever you say, boss,” the brunette teases. Maybe she should be offended, but Lexa feels a smile tug at the corners of her lips. She blames the eggnog.

Clarke emerges from the kitchen, holding a platter of something that smells faintly of charcoal.

“I made more cookies!” She is grinning triumphantly, even as Lexa and Raven exchange a sidelong glances.

“Thanks, babe!” Octavia exclaims, leaping from the floor and planting a kiss on Clarke’s cheek. Lexa can’t help but admire her acting skills, and the way she covers for the rest of them. No one has the heart to tell the blonde her cookies suck.

Lexa zones out, watching the movie, until a familiar figure blocks her line of sight. She makes a noise of disapproval and tries to peer around the blonde, but to no avail.

“Scoot,” Clarke commands, pulling the blanket off Lexa. Her couch was not made for three people to sit comfortably without touching - but apparently, ‘not touching’ is not in Clarke’s repertoire. She plops down beside Lexa, almost on top of her, and wraps the shawl around them both.

“I’m cold,” Clarke whispers, and looks at Lexa expectantly. She quickly tries to avert her eyes, but looking at the blonde’s breasts through the taunt red tank top is not the smartest move. She reluctantly glances back up, hoping her cheeks aren’t as bright as the shirt.

Clarke is still staring at her, silently challenging. Lexa thinks she knows what she wants, but it feels like her arms are deadweights at her sides. She can only watch with baited breath as Clarke rolls her eyes and wriggles her head into the crook of Lexa’s shoulder and neck. The girl sighs softly, and Lexa thinks she might drown from all the things she does not understand.

She focuses on Atticus, watching his large chest rise up and down, until her own heart has steadied. Lexa knows that Clarke is physically affectionate - she’s seen it firsthand with Raven and Octavia - and knows this means nothing. She can’t stop her mind from wandering, however, not while surrounded by the essence of Clarke.

* * *

“I’m freezing my ass off.”

“Thank you for your input, Clarke,” Lexa sighs, tucking her chin into her scarf.

“Literally, this isn’t Alaska,” the blonde snorts right before they reach the top of the stairs. Union Square stretched out before them, aglow with multi-colored lights. People mill around, laughing. A familiar sense fills the area; Lexa’s been here every winter since childhood.

It was Saturday; that morning, Lexa woke up shivering on her couch. Clarke had been curled near her, face scrunched up while she slept, and was hogging the entire blanket. Lexa had stared at the girl, probably blatantly, for a long moment before a loud cough sounded behind her. Raven, hair tousled and eyes blearing, still managed to stare at Lexa as if she knew every single thought. Lexa blinked at the girl, momentarily surprised before remembering she invited them to stay the night. It had been late when they finally fell asleep, and if the angle of sunlight through her window was anything to go by, it was late morning. Lexa typically hated waking up past 9, because she felt the entire day was wasted - but she could make an exception.

Octavia padded out of her kitchen, socked feet quiet, and held up a bag with an expression of disgust.  
“Jesus, are you even human? Why do you have so much green stuff?”  
Lexa snorted, and kept her tone low to avoid waking Clarke “It’s for green smoothies, O. They are actually quite delicious when made with organic kale.”  
Octavia stared at her, disbelieving but was interrupted before she could reply.  
“Poptarts in pantry, O,” Clarke rasped. Her voice was gravely and Lexa didn’t want to consider how it made her feel.

Several hours later, after the two brunettes had finally left Lexa’s apartment, she decided to share one of her favorite places. As they both gaze over the crowd, taking in the giant tree and multi-color strings of lights, Lexa turns to Clarke, hoping she feels the same sense of excitement.

She realizes the girl wasn’t at all joking. Clarke’s cheeks are flushed and all of a sudden Lexa sees that despite her thick cranberry sweater - which perfectly matches her lipstick - the girl is shaking slightly. Her hand trembles, curled against her side. Worry tugs at her, insistent.

“You’re cold,” Lexa restates.

“No shit, Sherlock. I just said that.”

“Clarke, take mine.” Lexa immediately starts to tug off her long tan coat. The sudden chill wind bites her as her shoulders are exposed. She pulls it off halfway before she feels a hand on her shoulder, grabbing the collar and effectively halting all movement.

“Then you’ll be cold!” the blonde replies before smirking wickedly. Lexa feels a touch of dread in her gut as she continues. “I have a better idea.”

Clarke stays still until Lexa looks up. Sharp blue eyes bore into hers with a calculating stare, but she forces herself to gaze defiantly back. The blonde is smirking, she notes with dread, and then Lexa’s brain short circuits as Clarke steps right into her personal space and lingers.

The girl presses her back into Lexa, seeking body heat, and all Lexa wants to do is wrap her arms around the blonde. She chastises herself and vows to remain still, keeping her hands stiffly glued to her sides. Clarke wriggles and her golden curls bushes Lexa’s neck. She flinches, her body betraying her when she lets out a chocked chuckle.

“Are you ticklish?”

“No, I am not.” Lexa deadpans, gazing down at the blonde’s profile. She’s trying to avoid Clarke’s keen azure eyes, scared of what she would see (or, more likely, what she wouldn’t see).

“I don't believe you.” Clarke head is turned, her back still against Lexa, and the angle of her neck tilts her face closer. Her eyes are wide and she breathes out small puffs of air from parted mouth. Lexa focus intently on Clarke’s breath, tiny clouds barely visible against the dark sky, instead of her soft pink lips. She’d get the wrong idea, and Lexa couldn’t scare off her only friend.

The moment is broken when a joyful screech shatters the still night. Lexa jerks her head up, both grateful to be rid of the proximity and saddened. She can finally breathe as she skims the crowd and located the source of the noise. Her face lights up in an unstoppable grin and she moves away from Clarke. Her legs travel on their own accord, quickly walking forward. and she's walking forward. Lexa’s at the rim of the ice skating rink, watching people twirl around on the ice. It’s graceful, like dancing. She feels the same thrill of excitement as the first time she went to an ice skating rink, so many years ago.

 

 

 

> “Come on, slow poke!”
> 
> “I don’t understand how you get pleasure out of putting blades on your feet and walking on frozen water.”
> 
> “Live a little, Eeyore.” Her best friend pauses, looking meaningfully behind her. A group of kindergarteners laugh and easily rush past them.
> 
> “Hell no, I’ll watch you,” she retorts, staring at her feet. In so many things, Costia excels. She’s the top violinist in their school’s orchestra and is a brilliant dancer.
> 
> “Come on, _Alexandria_.”
> 
> “I swear to God, the first thing I’ll do when I turn 18 is change that name so I never have to hear it on roll call again!”
> 
> Costia just snorts “Silly, when we’re 18, we’ll be in college! I don't think they even do roll call.”
> 
> She grins and Lexa catches a glimpse of bright purple braces - perfectly matching the purple bows artfully arranged on her afro.
> 
> Costia had complained for days when she first got her braces last year, in 8th grade and Lexa personally thought Cos’s teeth were great as they were. In a short while the braces became nothing but yet another customizable accessory for her friend. Purple was Costa’s favorite color, at the moment - thought it was always subject to change. Costa’s preferences were ever shifting, and sometimes Lexa struggled to keep up.
> 
> Everything except the smile reserved just for Lexa.
> 
> “I fucking swear, you wouldn't ask this if you really liked me.”
> 
> “Keep the cussing down, moms over there!”
> 
> Lexa briefly over her shoulder and catches a glimpse of Costia’s mom, watching them from a bench. She waves, and they flash double thumbs up in reply. Lexa’s glad Costia isn’t rude to her mother like some of the girls in middle school are.
> 
> Alheri is usually distinguishable in a crowd; unlike many of the anxious parents donning jeans and a plain t-shirt, she wears a beautiful kaba, a traditional Nigerian one-piece dress. It was one of the clothes she brought “from the old country” as Costia calls her home. Lexa personally loved her long dresses and finely braided hair. She had been awestruck when she first learned Alheri sewed all her own clothes and even some of Costia’s. Lexa has spent many after school evenings, sitting at her friend’s dining room table and attempting to do pre-algebra homework as she listens to Costia chat in Hausa with her mother.
> 
> Costia made their first friendship bracelet only a few months after her family moved to the Bay Area from Nigeria. 
> 
> At the edge of the ice skating rink, many years later, Lexa smiles down at the original worn-down bracelet. Over time, her wrist has become covered with new, brighter gifts from her talented friend. She still liked the first one the best.
> 
> Costia holds at her hand, and Lexa doesn’t hesitate before stepping forward on wobbly ice skates, feigning confidence.

At Union Square, present day, Lexa feels the weight of the thread on her ankle. She couldn’t bear to see the friendship bracelet on her wrist every single day, but didn’t ever want to be without it.

She feels a hand on her shoulder, altering their presence. They stand in silence for several prolonged seconds.

“Do you skate?” Clarke asks, eventually. There is an uncharacteristic note of hesitation in her voice; Lexa has never heard that before.

“Yes. Well, I used to. And yourself?”

Clarke outright laughs. “Hell no.”

It’s Lexa’s turn to chuckle at the comment, and she half-turns to face Clarke. The girl doesn’t move, and her swivel brings their heads very close. Lexa knows she’s blushing deep scarlet and tries not to think about how soft Clarke’s cheeks looks.

“Why not, Clarke?” She breathes out. It’s nothing more than a whisper.

“I guess I’ve never had the chance.” The girl shugs, averting her eyes to watch the gleeful people, bundled up, cautiously trekking across the ice. A flash of emotion flickers on her face for a millisecond. Lexa recognizes the expression as wistful. Clarke turns to her, one eyebrow raised, “Now’s a good a time as any to learn, right?”

“It’s childish, I haven’t skated in years,” Lexa protests, but it is a weak argument. Clarke, in many ways, is a hurricane and topples anything in her course. This is a challenge, one that the blonde knows won’t be refused. It is terrifying, the way Clarke seems to know the inner workings of her mind. Lexa supposes most logical thing to do is get this over with, and try not to think about who taught her to skate.

Turns out, listening to her head is not always the best idea. Not when Clarke is gripping her arms, right below the shoulders, and even through layers of clothes it feels as if her grip is burning Lexa’s skin. A brand, a mark, an unforgettable impact. It’s fitting, Lexa supposes, for the way Clarke entered her life and altered it’s course.

Clarke’s breath is coming out in short bursts, but she gives no other sign of fear. Lexa can’t help but admire the girl, trembling on the ice skates, and is in awe even as Clarke stares at her like she holds the entire world.

Lexa doesn’t know how to say she’s not Atlas, and if she were, the earth would topple.

(She would try until her last breath, for Clarke, but the universe is heavy enough to bear just for herself.)

“I don’t know _how_ you talked me into this,” the blonde spits through gritted teeth. She concentrates on her ice skates, unsteady beneath her, and the hand not holding Lexa grips the railing as if her life depends on it.

“If I recall correctly, it was you-“

“Eat my entire ass, Lexa.”

She stumbles, graceful movements vanished, and struggles to right herself. Clarke totters as she jerks away, white-knuckle gripping the rail. When Lexa regains her balance, she keeps several inches between them. Her eyes glance everywhere but Clarke, and she quickly quells the flush of embarrassment.

“Was it something I said?” the blonde drawls, but beneath her suave facade Lexa wonders if her heart is beating a little faster, too. She decides it’s not worth thinking about.


	4. Chapter 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Lexa misses Clarke in the most mundane of ways. Her voice, harmonizing with the radio as she dances around the kitchen before work. The blonde’s sassy commentary in every movie they watch, both of them sharing a blanket on the couch. Lazy Saturday mornings, when Lexa gets up to go on a run with Atticus. Clarke’s disgusted face at her ‘green’ morning smoothies.
> 
> (Clarke’s lips gently pushing back against her’s in the tile bathroom.)

“Can I see your tattoos?”

Lexa is at the bar school, jotting notes on her Macbook air. Her hand freezes. So casual, the way Clarke frames it. She’s not sure if she heard correctly. Her heart is pounding and Lexa's glad she’s sitting, because her legs giving way is a definite possibility.

“Okay,” she answers robotically, lifting her head to look at the girl. Clarke’s cheeks are flushed - Lexa knows it’s just because of the warm day - and she stares directly back at Lexa. It is a challenge of sorts. She stands slowly, and Clarke takes a step from the doorway.

Never in her life has Lexa felt so exposed, so bare.

_I’ll need to take my shirt off for this._

She’s wearing a soft grey top. Her hands tremble ever so slightly as she starts to unbutton. Clarke is staring, but trying not to seem obvious. Lexa turns around, faces the wall. A picture of Atticus leans in the hallway. He looks like a lion, chest puffed out, gazing across grey ocean waves like a king surveying his territory.

_This isn’t a big deal, grow up..._

She pulls her shirt over her head quickly, fingers skimming across the buttons, the fabric hanging loose around her shoulders. Lexa has never been ashamed of herself. But as she drops the shirt, revealing her bare back to Clarke, she keeps her eyes lowered and doesn’t turn. When she feels a puff of air at her shoulder, she flinches in shock.

“Sorry,” Clarke breathes out.

“It’’s okay. Are you… Seeing what you need?” The question is awkward and she wants to take it back.

“Yes. You’re - It’s beautiful.”

Lexa gulps. She wonders if she imagines the soft press of lips at the back of her neck. Before she can respond, she hears quickly retreating footsteps behind her. In a matter of seconds, Clarke is gone; Lexa is left with nothing but sadness at things just beyond her reach.

* * *

Lexa tries, and fails miserably, to pretend she isn’t hovering over her phone anxiously while waiting for a message from Clarke. The girl decided to go out with Raven on a Thursday night in early December- a perfectly fine choice that she is completely capable of making herself, because she is her own person. She knows it is stupid, Clarke is fine, just paryting with some friends. but her iPhone doesn't light up, no matter how many times she glances at the dark screen. Worry mounts inside Lexa. She paces the room, Atticus watching as he curls up beneath the Christmas tree. Lexa realizes she’s verbalizing the constant string of worried thoughts.

“Great, now I’m talking to a fucking dog.”

Atticus almost looks sad at the comment, and she rushes to take it back, “I didn’t mean it like that, you’re not such a bad dog. Wait, am I actually apologizing to you?”

Her phone bings, and Lexa can’t help dodging towards it. She feels unsettled but knows she’s only worried for her friend’s safety.  
“That’s what friends do, Atti, think about each other...” she muses, typing in her passcode.

Clarke 12:34 AM  
heyy can yhou get me

Lexa 12:35 AM  
On my way.

Lexa 12:35 AM  
Where are you?

Clarke 12:39 AM  
i dnot know oh ravens

Clarke 12:41 AM  
its white houes

  
Lexa remembers Raven’s house - the home shared by several grad students, including her intern, which was notorious for it’s parties. She mumbles a gruff goodbye to Atticus before grabbing her scarf and a plastic bag, just in case Clarke decides to get carsick.

 

She arrives at Raven’s door in record time (no one pays attention to speed limits at 1:00 am). It swings open before she had a chance to knock.

“Hello, Raven. Is Clarke here,” Lexa states casually as she lowers her hand, acting like it were perfectly normal to show up at her door in the middle of the night. The brunette stares back at her, a small smile plastered dumbly on her face. Lexa notices the ruffled state of her hair and the hickey forming on her collarbone. She decides to keep that knowledge to herself.

Raven stumbles back, gesturing grandly. “Heya, boss. I’m not shitfaced. Clarke-o’s in room, mine.”

Lexa nods in gratitude and immediately takes off at a fast walk to the staircase. She believed Raven, but wants to see Clarke safely with her own eyes.  
“Someone tried to kiss her,” Raven smirks, promptly stopping Lexa in her tracks. She is all ears, staring at Raven intently. A rush of emotion spreads through her; she convinces herself it couldn't be jealousy. The brunette attempts to sober up slightly but it doesn’t work well.

“She pushed her off. Said no, made it go boom,” she exclaims, blowing air out of her cheeks and giving sound effects.

Lexa is angling her body towards the stairs, inching forward. Her mind reels with the new information. Clarke never told her, outright, that she was into girls. The kiss had been a mere product of adrenaline. The bathtub was an accident, through and through. It left no room for “maybe” or “what if”. She pushes that out of her mind as she walks into Raven’s bedroom and opens the door.

Clarke is spread out, starfish style, on the bed. Her tousled blonde hair completely covers her face. Lexa sighs, walking over to her friend. She kneels besides the bed until her face is level with Clarke’s, brushing the hair out of the girl’s face gently. The girl cracks open one eye and the look on her face is almost fond. Lexa feels an odd tightening in her throat. “Hi.”

“Hey, you,” the blonde rasps in return, before heaving herself up on her forearms and curling her body slightly closer to Lexa. Her face is inches away. She blinks sleepily and Lexa makes an effort to keep her breath steady. Clarke smells of sweet liquor but beneath that she knows the blonde borrowed Lexa's perfume.

“Boss, can you get’er home? I mean, I love her but-” Raven startles Lexa from her thoughts. She jerks behind her, winking, at the slouched man holding her hand. Lexa resists the urge to roll her eyes. She might complain if Raven wasn’t such a completely brilliant, skilled mechanic.

“I will. See you at 8:00 tomorrow.”

“Don’t remind me,” Raven groans at the comment, turning her cheek into the chest of the boy beside her. He touches a muscular arm to her back, briefly, and Lexa finds herself squinting at his oddly familiar freckled face.

She feels a hand on her head and glances over to see Clarke, tangling her hands in Lexa’s hair. When she notices the attention, the blonde smiles sleepily, her eyes just a small sliver of grey-blue.

“Let’s go, Clarke,” Lexa mutters gruffly in an attempt to quell the shakiness taking hold. The blonde merely whines in protest, smooshing her face into Raven’s comforter.  
Raven, from the doorway, pipes up, “Oi, we do this easy or hard way. Get’a move on, Griffin.”

Lexa realizes that Clarke has absolutely no intention of moving, despite Raven's threat. 

_How did this become my life?_

She stands, rising from the crouch, and in one fluid motion reaches down for Clarke. Her long hair brushes the blonde’s neck as she bends down, smelling lavender perfume. The scent is so sweet, so overpowering, that she almost has to step away. She powers through, ignoring the fluttering in her gut, and hauls Clarke up by her armpit. The girl sways, sagging against Lexa as she leads them both out of the room and down the stairs. Raven hardly mutters a slurred goodbye before the front door slams shut behind them.

The street is deserted and quiet - as it should be, considering the hour. Lexa’s feet bang loudly on the porch steps as she makes her way to the driveway, Clarke stumbling along beside her. She feels a soft hand slip into hers; the blonde’s grip on her arm had sunk lower until she tangled their fingers together.

It feels nice, the way Clarke trusts Lexa to carry most of her body weight. She knows the hand wrapped around hers doesn’t mean anything, because Clarke just isn’t in her normal mindset. In the morning, this will all fade.

Throughout the entire car ride home, their fingers remain intertwined between them. Neither make any move to let go.

 

Several hours after tucking Clarke into her makeshift bed in the office, Lexa startles awake to the sound of stumbling feet. She is exhausted and can hardly lift her head from the pillow, but mumbles nonsense.

_I just hope this isn’t a serial killer._

She blinks her eyes open when the mattress sags beside her, extra weight being added. Lexa smells lavender and smiles softly, even before she catches a glimpse of periwinkle eyes in the dim room. The full moon outside the window turns blonde hair to silver.

“Clarke?” she whispers softly, her quiet tone still jarring in the silence.

“Mhmm,” the girl sighs in reply as she slides onto the bed. Clarke wriggles under the blankets and flops her head down on the pillow, arms curling around Lexa’s chest.

Lexa stiffens, eyes wide in the dark room. The girl presses against her, movements fatigued and languid. She wipes her face on Lexa’s shoulder, grumbling gibberish.

“Clarke, you have your own bed.”

“You’re softer.”

She didn’t have a comeback for that.

“Clarke stay.”

Lexa wasn’t sure how to respond to that, either. She fell asleep to the sound of her pounding heartbeat and Clarke’s sleepy snuffles, vibrating against her skin.

* * *

Clarke takes Lexa on a tour through the city, but it’s a far different path than she has ever traveled before. They first stop at a hip coffee shop; she immediately recognizes it as the one she painted in front of. The Blakery - a bakery owned by Octavia Blake and her brother, who is seeing Raven.

They walk through the door, and once again, Jasper the flirtatious barista waves a greeting.

“I’d like a latte, please. And -“ Lexa turns to Clarke, realizing she doesn’t know what to order.

“Darkest roast we have, don’t bother,” the boy continues before the blonde can even open her mouth. He winks at Clarke, and she grins back. At that moment, a tall freckled young man walks through the back door. His face lights up like a puppy when he spots Clarke.

“How’s it going, Princess?”

“Not bad, Bell. Yourself?”

Clarke turns to Lexa, who stands awkwardly off to the side.

“This is Jasper. And Bellamy, Octavia’s brother and Raven’s,” she hesitates for the right word, “Friend. Guys, this is Lexa.”

“You haven’t asked to crash with me and O for a while. You know you’re always welcome,” the man - Bellamy - continues. He holds out a hand and Lexa’s takes it - his palm is large in comparison to her own and his grip is firm.

“Actually, I guess O didn’t tell you, Lexa’s been kind enough to let me stay with her.” Clarke flashes a brilliant smile and Lexa just knows her cheeks are reddening. Bellamy gives her a pointed look and she realizes, horrified, that he knows exactly whats up. She just hopes he won’t tell Clarke.

 

They spend the day meandering through streets alight with culture and diversity. Clarke’s path seems wayward, until she stops in a narrow alleyway (by now, she should be used to Clarke’s surprises).

”Look up, Lexa.”

She does. Above them, a giant mural stretches nearly from wall to wall. It depicts a springtime forest, complete with bluebirds and a family of deer. Lexa immediately turns to Clarke, smiling, and the blonde nods.

“Yep, all me.”

Lexa notes every tiny detail Clarke has included, running her hands over the paint right above her.

“Technically, it’s private land, but I only paint on abandoned property. Besides, no one really uses these spaces except the people that live here, and most of them approve,” she pauses, seemingly happy with Lexa’s reaction.

“If you want, Lexa, I can show you more?”

“I would love that.”

Until the sun starts to set, Clarke leads Lexa throughout the city. So much beauty, all the color, is credited to her artistic abilities. They duck behind warehouses and tromp through alleyways, Clarke pointing out scenes as they pass. Lexa would never be able to find these spots without her. She asks questions along the way, anything to keep the conversation going. She never wants to stop talking to Clarke about art, watching her eyes light up as she explicitly explains her procedures.

“How long does it take to paint these?"

“It depends, really. Usually I have to come back twice or three times to finish, because it gets too cold to continue. Plus, I have to make sure no one’s around.”

 

“Lexa, come over here,” Clarke motions as they walk past a community park. The path is filled with elementary aged children trekking home from school. She puts both her hands on Lexa’s arms, pulling her into a crouched position.

_Stop thinking about her._

“I do not see the point in this.”

“Look over there, Lexa.”

In front of them is an impressive building, but the architecture is not what causes Lexa is gasp in amazement. A giant painting is visible on the side of the large staircase. It is the midnight sky, painted in dark blue and purple, with stars and a large crescent moon. The mural is only visible from a certain low angle when standing several feet away.

“I planned it here on purpose. Most adults would have to crouch down, like you are, to see the image. Most don’t have the time to do that - they walk right by, eyes glued to their smartphones. However, children can see it for what it really is because of their height and curiosity.”

“It’s beautiful, Clarke.”

“I hope they enjoy it.”

“I’m sure they do,” she smiles, and it hits Lexa. She cares for Clarke more than she wants to admit. It’s impossible to deny. She is captivated by the girl’s unconditional regard for others and her fearlessness.

 

Later, the blonde stops in front of a blank wall. It’s nothing more than a slab of grey concrete. Lexa has no idea what it represents, but hopes Clarke will elaborate.

“Once, I stayed out all night - sunset to dawn. It was cloudy and misty, but nothing I couldn’t handle. I worked for several hours straight. Just as I finished the final details, the rain started.”

Lexa can only imagine how terrible that must be, powerlessly watching her hard work get washed away.

“The paint ran down the sides, turning the water purple and leaving this wall blank.” Clarke smiles, and Lexa doesn't understand why she wears that expression when thinking of such a tragedy. She gestures to a strip of sidewalk visible to their left. “I was dejected, to say the least. However - as I was leaving, I saw a young boy, likely on his way to school. He wore a giant yellow raincoat that reminded me of the Man With The Yellow Hat from Curious George.”

Lexa laughs, image bright in her mind. She used to love those books, and secretly watched a few episodes of the TV adaptation when it aired.

“The kid was splashing around in a brightly colored puddle and looked absolutely overjoyed. To him, the color was magic. Even if the painting is nonexistent now, it did it’s job: my art made someone smile.”

Clarke is honorable and far, far too good for Lexa.

She should've known it could never last.

* * *

When Lexa wakes to find Clarke gone, she doesn’t think much of it.

When she doesn’t pass the girl and her dog in the usual spot while walking to work, she starts to wonder. It’s a chilly November morning, and Lexa pulls her coat tighter as she turns away from The Blakery. 

Lexa doesn’t feel concern until she arrives home at the apartment. Walking through the door almost feels like deja vu. No lights are on; no tv sounds nor dog racing to greet her. Lexa has gotten accustomed to the noise, and as the evening continues, she becomes increasingly distressed. Her phone doesn’t ring, and she remains rigidly perched on her barstool as the hours tick by.

When the sun finally sets, she calls the only person she can think of.

“Lexa?” Anya picks up on the second ring.

“Yep, it’s me. Uh,” she struggles for words. She stares at the edge of her carpet, ignoring the tears that threaten to spill over. She’s a grownup women, she can’t cry over such trivial things. But her rationality is fading, as it always does when it comes to Clarke.

_What have I done wrong? Why did she go?_

“It’s Clarke, isn’t it.”

Her sister, as always, knows exactly what’s wrong. Her voice is laced with concern.

“She,” Lexa’s voice wobbles. She takes a moment to compose herself, not wanting her sister to see her like this. It was embarrassing. “I don’t know where she is, Anya.”

“It’s funny, Lexa. I looked for a Clarke Griffin - couldn’t find one locally. Wanted to make sure the girl my little sister is ‘sharing a couch’ with is not a criminal. There’s not a single person registered under that name; and you know me, my search tools are better then the president himself.”

Lexa pales. She doesn’t want to explain this messed up situation now, of all times.

“However,” Anya continues. “I’m not going to ask. I trust you well enough to assume she’s not a murderer. You will tell me later.”

“Thank you. I - she’s not back yet. She’s always at the loft by now.”

“Have you considered that maybe she wants some time to herself? I think you, of all people, can understand that.”

The words hit hard. Lexa, the lone wolf; just as Clarke had said. Maybe, just maybe, she doesn’t want to be solitary. Wolves are meant to be pack animals. Clarke showed her that.

“No, she wouldn’t...” Lexa glances around her vacant home. It seems so much darker, gloomier, than it had the night before. Even as she says it, a small part of her mind latches on.

It was foolish to think Clarke was enjoying herself, to assume she meant anything more than someone who provides a roof over her head. Her hidden insecurities cling to this fear, and the rational part of her mind considers it.

“She could just want to get away for a few days, and plans to call you later.” It makes sense, what Anya is saying; however, Lexa shakes her head. It doesn't sound like Clarke.

“She wouldn't just go without saying goodbye. Not even a note. I don't know what to do, Anya.”

“You really like her.”

“Everyone deserves -“ Lexa immediately starts a generic response, but her sister silences her.

“Cut the crap, Lexa. You haven’t been this... Emotional about anyone since Costia.”

It is the first time Lexa hears her ex-girlfriends name on Anya's lips in a very long time. Her sister was undeniably right - Clarke provoked feelings in her, of affection and fear, that only Costia had been able to.

“Maybe if you started opening up about these sentiments, everything wouldn’t be so confusing.” The message is the hard truth, but Anya says it gently.

As always, her sister is correct. It was Lexa’s fault if Clarke didn’t see how glad she is to have her around. The shared evenings over the past few weeks have completely altered her outlook. Even people at work have noticed, though Raven is the only one who dares to question it - Lexa greatly admires her spirit.

“I’ll try to be patient. Thank you, Anya.”

“Anytime, sister. Keep me posted.”

Clarke doesn’t appear, though Lexa paces her living room until 4:00 am.

* * *

Her procedural memory takes over. After several numbing days of work, she walks down back alleys all over the city. Sometimes, she passes homeless people huddled in grungy blankets alongside the street. None of them are Clarke. From time to time, she see’s a flash of blonde hair or red fur from the corner of her eye. She whips around, startling those around her. It is never who she hopes to see, and the dog is never as magnificent as Atticus.

She walks to the Mission District, trying to find the places Clarke showed her. She searches for hours, but never comes across the painting of the two of them on a cliff, the one completed under the cover of darkness.

Maybe it’s a sign to give up - that she was nothing more to Clarke than a person with a spare room.

(She doesn't, she can't.) 

Some locations Lexa remembers, like the painting on the large stone steps. She takes an afternoon off work and walks all the way there. Her feet ache in the stiff professional flats, but it’s worth it when she spots the mural. Lexa finds the spot again. She wonders briefly what people think of her; a strange woman crouching and shuffling over the grass, staring at some stairs. She doesn’t care, and no one approaches her to ask.

Lexa finally finds a viewpoint with a perfect view, about a hundred yards away at the base of a giant oak tree. She settles down in the grass beside it, watching the painting. People pass her by, not even sparing a glance. Businessmen in crease-less suits stride by, eyes glued to their smartphones. A few college aged students zoom past on bikes, and young families with toddlers slowly meander down the sidewalk.

_Is this how Clarke feels, on the streets? Completely invisible?_

She misses the blonde in the most mundane of ways. Her voice, harmonizing with the radio as she dances around the kitchen before work. Clarke’s sassy commentary in every movie they watch, both of them sharing a blanket on the couch. Lazy Saturday mornings, when Lexa gets up to go on a run with Atticus. Clarke’s disgusted face at Lexa’s ‘green’ morning smoothies.

(Clarke’s lips gently pushing back against her’s in the tile bathroom.)

It almost feels like losing Costia, all over again. Lexa realizes, slowly, that what she feels for Clarke is similar to Costia. Maybe she knew it all along, but couldn't let herself admit it. But now, with nothing but her own thoughts to occupy her in the empty apartment, Clarke’s absence feels like a bullet wound.

She walks down the streets and the memory of Costia haunts her. It is too easy to think of Clarke, lying alone somewhere, already lost to the world.

Still, she dwells in the memory of jogging down a street filled with groggy college students.

 

 

> Lexa remembers ducking under the “caution” tape. The police officer notices her and steps forward, arms outstretched to block her passage. Years of track and running have lead up to this moment, and the officer stands no chance as she swerves around him.
> 
> A stretcher, the ambulance. Her brain is fuzzy. The street-lamps are blurring and she focuses on the crowd of uniformed men before her. Lexa can no longer hear - she is deaf to the world, stumbling forward. Once man is startled by her presence and spins around quickly, exposing a glimpse into the scene they try to hide.
> 
> Someone is wailing in despair - she realizes it may be her. A wide shouldered man steps towards her and she slips through his grasp like a fish, darting to the crumpled figure on the pavement. Lexa’s vision is completely blinded by tears, but she would recognize her girlfriend anywhere.
> 
> She cradles the girls head, crouching in the middle of the street beside her. She dimly registers a sticky feeling. She won’t see the blood on her hands until later, when in her mind the crime becomes her fault.
> 
> “Cos, come on. Let’s go home. Come on, please. Talk to me. Costia, say something.”
> 
> There are two sets of hands hoisting her up from the arms, and though she struggles, the fight is fruitless. She lashes her head and drags her feet over the pavement but the grip doesn’t loosen.
> 
> They are speaking to her, voices urgent and grave. Lexa can hardly hear their words, for everything sounds like it’s underwater.
> 
> “Her name? Miss? Do you know this girl?”
> 
> “Costia. Costia Eze,” Lexa murmurs, hoping that’s what they want. She sees a stretcher, and several men trying to lift her. Rage builds within Lexa and she snarls, catching the officer off guard and brushing him off despite his shout.
> 
> Her legs feel leaden and someone grabs her a moment later, but still she strains towards her girlfriend, her best friend, as the girl is carried away by strangers. She wails, the broken noise spilling unbidden from her lips, and calls out, desperate for her to hear, “Costia! Don’t touch her! She’s fine - Cos, get up, why aren’t you opening your eyes?”
> 
> She doesn’t look up.
> 
> “Remember the house we’re going to buy? Up in Tahoe, next to the lake? You promised. God, Cos, you promised!” Lexa is sobbing, desperate, the guilt crushing her chest. She can’t breathe - this is all her fault.
> 
> They load Costia into an ambulance, and police are crowding Lexa and forcing her to talk. Lexa steels herself, crouching on the ground and refusing to move.

She loved Costia, and she died. Lexa hates herself, hates how she let herself feel yet again. She doesn't know what to call the strange twist in her gut, for it is so different yet similar to how Costia made her feel. And now Clarke is gone - all she earned from opening herself up were memories.

She tried to convince herself a few happy memories with Clarke wasn’t worth the pain of losing her.

(She tries, but doesn’t believe herself.)

Costia had brought out her wilder side, but when she left Lexa was bleak. Clarke brought out the same daring side to her, only this time both are older and all the wiser. Clarke drew her away from a monotone life, and so Lexa will wait for her. She doesn't know what else to do. She lets her mind take over - a naturally pragmatic person, Lexa forces herself to make the right choices. She has a company to run. People are relying on her, and she must do what's best for them.

She hates it, how the rooms Clarke filled with light are now museum artifacts. It reminds her of the apartment she shared with Costia, after her girlfriend’s death. The walls are closing in on her, and she hates spending excess time there. Lexa throws herself into her work, sometimes even dozing in her office instead of going home. She is diligent, working directly with the engineers to help develop new plans. Her mind is utterly focused on her company, because she doesn’t want to know what will happen if her thoughts stray. Clarke constantly looms at the back of her mind. She is angry yet worried sick.

In the middle of the night, Lexa let’s herself break apart alone in apartment. She cries for Costia, whose death was all her fault, and for Clarke. Beautiful Clarke, who thrived in every environment. Adaptable and headstrong and so, so stubborn. She is loyal and selfless and Lexa feels offkilter without her nearby.

It’s as if the planets, her center of balance, shifted. Lexa is left reeling into the abyss because she trusted Clarke and for the first time since Costia died she felt comfortable. She felt like she had a home, a niche in the world, right alongside Clarke. She wants to be angry, to throw Clarke’s paintings off the Golden Gate Bridge, to destroy every reminder the blonde left behind. But Lexa knows the biggest impact was on herself, and there’s no way to wipe every memory of Clarke.

 _This isn’t_ Eternal Sunshine of the Spotless Mind _. You cared for her, and she didn’t feel anything back. You were never ‘something’ with Clarke. You were a maybe, an almost, a secret. And now, you’re nothing._

Lexa has to believe Clarke will return - the alternative is too painful to bear. She doesn't know what would happen if the blonde showed up at her door, giant drooling dog beside her.

(She knows she’d let her in.)

Everything passes in a blur. She avoids Raven vehemently. Lexa doesn’t feel like it’s her life; she’s simply going through the motions, mechanically. Clarke’s absence leaves a bigger hole then she expects. Only a few days have passed (though it feels like so much more) when Anya arrives at the office and practically drags her from the desk. Lexa complains, dragging her heels into the floor as her sister tugs her along by the arm. Anya won’t budge - she is stubborn, just like Lexa.

(Just like Clarke.)

Her sister takes her to an upscale cafe down the street. The room is large and airy, all white tablecloths and small fancy platters. She wonders if Anya’s a fan of this environment, or if she thinks it’s what Lexa likes. It certainly wasn’t the type of place they would ever visit as children. Lexa misses The Blakery, with it’s scratched wood bar and sharp smell of coffee.

More than that, she misses Clarke, painting alongside the building.

“Any word from her?”

Lexa shakes her head, not looking up. She kicks underneath the table and it rattles their cups. She feels a cool hand on her arm, knowing her sister’s eyes are boring into her.

“I’m sorry, Lexa. It’s been a long time since I’ve seen you smile as often as you did these past weeks.”

Anya means since Costia died, and Lexa stopped trusting anyone. Since she built up a wall that no one, save Clarke, dared to face.

“Maybe she wasn't as happy as I was then. It was nice, having someone to talk to.”

“You have no idea, do you?”

“What?”

“For such a genius you’re really dumb. Of course she likes you.”

Lexa shakes her head, not daring to think too deeply on that statement.

“No. I don't really get what you mean.”

Her sister just looks at her, sighing softly. The expression is not pity - Lexa hates when others give her sympathetic glances, and Anya knows that. She received enough of those looks after Costia; some of her friends couldn't even look her in the eye.

“Someday you’ll know, little sister,” is all she replies, before biting into her quiche. Lexa can't summon the anger to be mad about her vagueness.

When her sister leaves, back to their parent’s home in Berkeley, they embrace tightly. Anya gently strokes her hair, just as she had when Lexa was little, and it brings a small smile to her face.

Lexa leaves the front door unlocked, just in case Clarke comes back.

(She doesn’t.)

* * *

Exactly one week after Clarke left, the phone rings in the middle of the night. Lexa groans, flipping onto her back and blindly reaching for it. She blinks blearily at the screen.

**Unknown Number**

Her breath hitches. For a long moment, Lexa can do nothing but stare at the two words - how have they come to mean so much to her? - before accenting the call with trembling fingers.

“Hello?” she says, hesitant.

“Lexa.”

From the other end comes the soft reply. It’s the most perfect sound she’s ever heard.

“Jesus Christ, Clarke,” Lexa jolts, jumping out of bed and stumbling several paces. “Where have you been?”

“I,” the connection is terrible. She can barely make out Clarke’s words. “I wasn’t going to call you, but...”

Dread seeps into her, infiltrating her thoughts and swarming her mind. She swallows thickly, the moment of joy forgotten. “Clarke, where are you? I’ll come pick you up.”

“No, Lexa. Don’t. I just have one request, then I wont bother you again. Okay?”

Lexa doesn’t know what to say. She feels helpless, confused, longing. Clarke isn’t bothering her, not in the slightest. She misses Clarke in ways she hasn’t missed anyone since Costia. Her absence is an ever gaping wound.

“Clarke, will you just -”

“Lexa,” she snaps, voice curt. It is a tone Clarke never used with her. “Listen to me. Please. Can you check the San Francisco SPCA and see if Atticus is there?”

Clarke’s voice wavers and Lexa’s blood runs cold. Something is wrong, something is seriously not right if Clarke isn’t with Atticus. They are always together, a team - she couldn't imagine one without the other.

“Clarke, please,” Lexa’s voice is desperate and hollow. She hates the weakness, but it’s the last thing she can do. She is practically begging, and swallows bile at the submissive act. “What happened?”

“I got caught,” her voice is flat, expressionless. It is as if she’s separated herself from the situation. By the rasp in her voice Lexa knows she’s tired. “They caught me defacing public property. Painting a mural. I’m in a holding cell, but I’m totally fine, I promise.”

Lexa hardly lets her finish the sentence before she slams the phone down, grabbing her keys and sprinting out the door faster than she ever has before. As she races down the stairs the pieces all slot into place. She know’s the girl would never tell her where she is. Clarke was caught, Atticus was given to the nearest pound. She’s not even angry, because Clarke did nothing wrong. She was creating something beautiful out of nothing, just like she had transformed the empty shell of Lexa herself.

Clarke didn’t have the money to pay bail, and she was too proud, too stubborn, to call. Lexa would pay in a heartbeat - why didn’t Clarke come to her? Of course, it was so typical Clarke that she only reached out because of her dog’s well-being. As she jogs to the garage, she asks Siri for police stations with holding cells in the San Francisco parameters.

“I’m sorry, Lexa. I can’t seem to find any results for ‘Polis Cells’,” Siri relays.

“Fuck you, Siri!” she shouts at the inanimate object, her voice bouncing off the concrete walls. I’m just glad no one had to witness that.

She manually Google’s it herself, grumbling about the precious lost seconds, and puts the first into Google Maps. She will find Clarke if it takes all night.

 

Lexa drives numbly, thankful that the streets are mostly deserted. Her heart is going wild in her chest with no sign of stopping, and her hands itch against the steering wheel. Her mind wanders to her conversation with Anya several days ago.

_“You have no idea, do you?”_

Lexa almost slams on the breaks as the realization hits her head-on.

She loves Clarke. Lexa is terrified because wants to hold Clarke and treasure her in the most disgustingly domestic ways. She wants to make her breakfast in bed and meet her friends and take Clarke to work functions with her. She wants to kiss her awake and kiss her goodnight and hold her hand.

She even wants the stupid dog to be a permanent fixture in her life, with his endless shedding and drool. She wants to eat a billion more of Clarke’s burnt cookies and listen to her singing at 6:00 AM. She wants to fill her life with Clarke’s art.

Lexa doesn’t deserve her. Clarke deserves so much more, someone who’s not broken and weighed down by the past. She knows it so absolutely; not a trace of doubt crosses her thoughts. She will help Clarke and swallow her tongue. She will watch Clarke leave, to find better things, and not look back. Lexa will be happy for her, despite the despair already flooding her insides. It is inevitable. Clarke cannot possibly feel the same, and even if she did, then she was misguided. Lexa would help her and watch her leave.

She wipes the tears blurring her vision and takes a shaky breath. Lexa turns onto a side street, hoping she will see the blonde soon.

 

Lexa doesn’t know how many hours have passed when she finally walks into the last San Francisco police station. Her exhaustion has turned into numbness, as if she is living someone else’s life. She pushes through the front door and strides to the front desk. The attendant looks up immediately, a smile plastered on her face.

“Hello, ma’am, what can I do for -”

“Clarke Griffin. Where is she.”

The women blinks. Lexa is impatient with her slow reflexes, though she does remember it’s almost 1 am. “Alright, if you would just hold on-”

“I’m here for Clarke Griffin. I’ll pay whatever bail is posted-”

“Lexa?”

She freezes, mouth open, prepared to continue the angry tirade. Everything else fades until all she can see is Clarke, standing not 10 feet away, behind steel bars. All at once, the earth’s balance seems to shift back to normal. Rationally, she knows it’s stupid - but it feels like Lexa can breathe easily again.

She is running, the desk attendant calling after her. She sounds distressed but Lexa doesn’t register the words. Lexa has run all her life, predominantly aimlessly, and now she knows exactly where to go. Not a single individual can stop her. All she see’s is Clarke before her, and all she feels is her heart in her throat, until she reaches the cell bars. Clarke rises to meet her. Her hair is matted, the braid long undone, but her tired eyes still gleam. She is beautiful and strong, even captured, like a pet bird.

(Lexa hates when people keep birds as pets, wings clipped.)

Lexa needs to release her, for people like Clarke are not meant to live in cages. They are uncontrollable forces of nature, with the ability to destroy or preserve anything in their path. Lexa knows, without a doubt, even as she reaches through the bars and clings to Clarke’s shirt, that the blonde could never settle. Neither could Lexa - they are both warriors, always needing a challenge, never admitting defeat. It was infuriating yet just the way of the world. Clarke would not come back with her (not now, not ever) if she didn’t wholeheartedly want to, and that thought terrified her more than anything.

Clarke lifts her hand - her nailbeds are filthy - and slips it through the bars, softly traces the Lexa’s cheekbone. She clings to Clarke and the blonde is staring back with the same amount of desperation. The metal blocks them from coming together but the way Clarke looks at her is dauntless and sure.

Even as a buff police officer shoulders her away from Clarke, the two never break eye contact. Clarke speaks for the second time when Lexa is several feet away, behind the dividing office wall. The world could collapse around them for all Lexa knew, because all she cares about is Clarke’s voice.

“Let’s go home.”

* * *

They leave the police station after what feels like eons. Somewhere along the way, likely between endless stacks of paperwork, their fingers had linked as if magnetically attracted. Neither made any move to pull away. Lexa can finally name the fluttering in her stomach, but deep down, she knows she can’t let it last. Right now, Clarke is vulnerable and needs help to regain her footing, but afterward, she should move on with her life. Her future is bright and filled with happiness and success. She would be selfish to want to keep that.

Lexa leads Clarke to her car, opening the passenger door for her before walking to the other side. As the doors slam shut, heavy silence falls. The sky outside the window is a dark blue and casts a watery cyan light them. Lexa’s mind whirls with all the newly-realized things she wants to say, but isn't sure how. She isn’t sure if she should voice her thoughts.

Her mind is stuck on an endless loop of ‘why didn’t you call’ and ‘don’t ever go again’, but she cannot coax herself into speaking.

The animal shelter doesn’t open until 8:00 am, several hours away. They flounder for some way to spend the time - Lexa tries to convince Clarke to take a shower back at her loft.  
“Not until we get him back,” she replies shortly, and Lexa doesn’t push it. Her dog means the world to her, and his absence must pain her deeply. She accepts if Clarke will not rest until then.

Lexa finds a 24 hours diner with a flickering neon sign and questionable quality, but at 3:00 am, they have to work with what they have. The streets of San Francisco are never truly empty, but they look as deserted as Lexa has ever seen them.

When she parks the car, Lexa is hyper-aware of her hand tangled with Clarke’s between them. She knows it’s wrong, but can’t help relishing in the moment. It might be their last, she thinks, bile rising in her throat. Lexa shifts her fingers slightly, and the blonde groans. She has pulled her hoodie over her face and slouched in her sleep, exposing a stripe of pale skin above her belly button. Lexa grins to herself and pokes the blonde gently - she earns a yelp and smack for her troubles before sighing and stumbling from the car.

Clarke tugs her along eagerly, their fingers intertwined, and Lexa knows she could get used to this.

(She can’t.)

Exactly two people, besides themselves, are in the diner: a middle age woman working the cashier and an old, gruff man who loudly slurps coffee and glares at his newspaper. Clarke pauses abruptly in the doorway and Lexa almost crashes into her back.

“His expression is like you,” she smirks, tilting her head back until her mouth is next to Lexa’s ear. She shivers from the contact, a reflex, and Clarke only grins wider. The waitress looks mildly surprised to see them (possibly because few people come to dine at this hour) but she leads them to a stiff leather booth near a window overlooking the street. Clarke sits on the cushioned side, and Lexa opposite her.

If their knees frequently bang together, she assumes it is merely an accident.

The waitress soon brings two steaming mugs, much to Clarke’s delight. She grabs at the coffee and slurps the burning liquid, a low groan rising in her throat. Lexa has to look anywhere but her when the sound is produced.

“They don’t have coffee like this in prison,” Clarke manages after the cup is nearly drained. The worker, hovering nearby with a coffee pot for refills, widens her eyes comically. Lexa suppresses a fond sigh.

“You were not in prison, Clarke, there’s a difference-“ She cuts off abruptly when her friend begins to look uncomfortable. The topic is fresh, the wound sensitive - they will talk, in time. They have time.

Instead, she asks the question hovering at the back of her mind. “How do you know he’ll be at this shelter?”

“Oh, I requested it, so I hope so,” she replies, and Lexa’s throat feels constricted as she imagines Clarke, restrained by police officers, making demands and calling helplessly as they take her dog away. The diner suddenly seems too small, the walls closing in on them, and Lexa abruptly stands up, muttering, “Can we go?”

Clarke is already rising to her feet, nodding, and Lexa throws a wad of cash (probably a bit too generous, but the lady was working all night and she deserved it) onto the table before striding outside.

They sits on the curb, listening to pre-dawn sounds, the ever present (if dim) noise of honking in urban settings. Lexa’s heart hammers but she knows what she has to say. It is only right, though she is not strong enough to watch Clarke while she does it. It burns as the words escape her throat, but they must be said, must be received. This is kindness, Lexa reminds herself. This is letting go and doing the right thing.

“You may leave anytime, once we get Atticus. I will drive you anywhere.”

(Lexa has always been a master of silence, using minimal words to get by, but she could write Shakespearean sonnets about the curve of Clarke’s lips.)

Please don’t go, she wants to add, but doesn’t. It is not her place to hold the girl back. Lexa glances over when she gets no reply, and Clarke turns. Her jaw clenches. She is blindingly beautiful and, like the sun, Lexa cannot maintain her gaze for long. But the blonde compels her to, and she drifts closer. Lexa is Icarus and the Clarke is the sun, but she has no intention of drifting away. Let her wings be singed, let her plummet from the open sky and drown in ocean waters. If it meant this proximity with Clarke, she would risk it all.

“You really don’t know, do you?” Clarke breathes out. Lexa would laugh, if she wasn't breathless, because she just echoed Anya’s words. There are inches between them, the jut of their knees almost touching. The distance is far too much and not enough. The blonde stares at her like she’s foolish and Lexa should feel angry at the almost insulting words. But she sits in the parking lot and takes it because anything from Clarke is better than nothing. Their precious shared time is slipping through her fingers, and Lexa wants to savor it. Though she knows it is illogical, Lexa feels the scope of the world has narrowed to the two of them. Her eyebrows furrow.

Yes, she wants to cry, there is much I don’t know.

“I do not follow, Clarke,” Lexa replies. There is an inkling of hope in her tone and she wants to crush it with the sole of her shoe. She can’t afford this weakness.

“For someone so brilliant, you can be so incredibly stupid,” Clarke moves closer, the miles separating them dissipating rapidly, and her lips press against the corner of Lexa’s mouth. They are chapped and dry but soft, and Lexa takes in a choked breath.

Clarke murmurs against her skin and the sensation tickles, but the blonde is speaking, and she tries not to be distracted. “I have fallen in love with you in every way under the sun. I thought it was obvious.”

Lexa feels like she’s drowning; she should feel joy instead of crushing guilt. This was everything she could ever hope for, and she knows it’s a pipe dream. Clarke is just swayed by the intense emotions she’s experiencing, she can’t really feel the same.

“No, please don’t. I can’t-“ she manages, breaking from Clarke and dropping her head to rest on her knees. It smells like asphalt and burnt rubber, but she focuses on the concrete below and ignores the way her vision blurs with tears. Her breathing is ragged, and it feels as if she’s in someone else’s body.

“You don’t think you deserve this, do you?”

Lexa can't respond. She feels pressure on her back, rubbing soothing circles over her sweater. She stiffens, her muscles straining, but doesn’t pull away. She is selfish, and the pain she has caused means it’s just selfish to want this beautiful girl. The blonde deserves so much better and it feels like her will is being tested. Lexa will not crack, though this is the hardest test she’s ever been through. Clarke’s hand starts between her shoulder blades, moving lower, and despite everything Lexa feels a minute fraction of her endless tension lessening.

“I have never met another more worthy of love than you,” Clarke murmurs softly, for the words are meant only to grace her ears.

You are so wrong, she wants so scream. Lexa remembers red, police tape, ambulance shrieks. Costia’s mother, holding both her hands during the funeral and gazing at her with such reverence that Lexa feels ashamed. It was her fault that this woman’s baby girl was dead, a family who had treated their budding relationship with nothing but kindness.

Tears slip down Lexa’s cheeks and her body shudders as an anguished sob threatens to break from her lungs. It is too much, her hands are dyed with blood. But Lexa is no longer a child. Costia has been buried for years. She must live with this guilt for her entire life. Lexa shouldn’t get a happy ending, no matter what.

“I loved her, Clarke,” her voice is broken but she is beyond caring. This is the most she’s spoken about Costia in what feels like forever, but it stings just the same.

“I know,” the girl murmurs, pressing her chin into Lexa’s shoulder and gently rubbing her face along the sleeve.

Lexa glances up at Clarke briefly and see’s the blonde staring back at her steadily. Her eyes are filled with an emotion Lexa has difficulty thinking about, but she knows is reflected in her own.

“I loved her, but I - you,” she trails off, unsure how to explain the expanding, newly realized affection. It is selfish, but she wants to say it, needs Clarke to know the truth before she goes. She moves her head, jolting Clarke off her shoulder, and burrowing her face into the crook of her neck. Clarke’s breath hitches in surprise.

The blonde smells like sweat and dirt but below that sweet, like lavender and something uniquely Clarke. It calms her and she breathes into soft pale skin for several moments. Clarke’s heartbeat is rapid and loud, an irregular patter. Lexa is awed to realize that she caused this unsteadiness.

Lexa pleas with her actions, praying Clarke understands. The grip around her is slightly tightened.

She understands, of course she does.

Lexa is weighed down with guilt because she loved Costia with everything and lost her. She doesn’t feel like she deserves to move on, but she’s starting to recognize her feelings for Clarke. The realization that Clarke feels the same shocks her.

Clarke’s voice calls to her again, coaxing her from the shadows of her mind.

“It wasn’t your fault, Lexa.”

It wasn’t, not really. But someone needed to be blamed for this tragedy, and she could easily hate herself now that was was alone in the world.

Until now.

“What would Costia want for you?”

Lexa is curled in on herself and it is weakness, but the blonde is here and she is safe. What would Costia want? Costia is, was, loyal to a fault. She abided by her own moral code, and though it often clashed with school regulations, she never once broke it. She had loved Costia with everything she had, but she was gone. She wouldn’t want her best friend to dwell in the past forever. She loved Costia, but her stomach flutters whenever Clarke glances at her. She has forced this affections to the back of her mind and only recently became aware of them.

“She’d want me to be happy.”

Lexa raises her head and looks at Clarke through tear-blurred eyes. The blonde returns her gaze with such tender affection that Lexa wonders how she missed it before. She wipes the tears drying on Lexa’s cheeks, and each new one as they form. She looks at Clarke, and never wants to go a day without seeing her. Lexa very slowly tilts forward, cautiously, and brings their faces mere inches apart.

Clarke waits. Checkmate.

Lexa surges up, pushing off the pavement as leverage, and closes the difference. In a world where so much is temporary, this is something she’s absolutely sure of. She gave Clarke a choice, a clear push away, and yet the blonde lingered. It confuses her but she feels giddy with emotion. Clarke shouldn’t want to be here, but she is and her eyes show no hesitation.

Lexa kisses Clarke like she’s drowning and these are her final moments alive. The blonde’s eyes hardly flicker in surprise when Lexa leans forward and her lips part on their own accord. The first time Lexa kissed Clarke, in the bathroom, it was a reflex, fueled by adrenaline and fear. The second was a mistake, clumsy and bumbling. Easy to brush off as accidental.

Now, it is deliberate. Neither hesitate. Clarke lifts a hand, traces the jut of Lexa’s cheekbone, and Lexa grasps the collar of the blonde’s dirty hoodie and yanks her forward, closing any space between their bodies.

It is not gentle, but it is not violent; it’s a contradiction, just like them. It is tender but powerful and Lexa’s sluggish mind realizes that Clarke is a skilled kisser. They brush against each other, gently, competing for dominance until the end. Everything else fades and it's like Lexa’s on fire. Clarke’s mouth slides wetly against hers and it’s anything but chaste. The blonde pulls back an inch to pant against her, open mouth, and Lexa revels in this display of weakness. She herself is in a similar state.

Clarke’s hand curls around the nape of her neck and she stretches forward, height difference be damned, to press a very brief kiss to Lexa’s jawline. She will never admit it, but a flush of arousal rises within her and she lets out a quiet growl. Lexa is startled by her own voice and she pulls back despite Clarke’s murmur of discontentment. The blonde stares through heavy lidded eyes and Lexa wants to surrender to her touch.

“Soon,” she whispers, like a promise, as excitement jolts through her veins. They have time. Lexa shakily gets to her feet and offers a hand down to Clarke. “Let’s go get Atticus.”

 

They enter the plain building at exactly 8:00 am. Clarke rushes forward with renewed energy, and Lexa follows at her heels. They travel down a dim hallway, and Clarke suddenly pulls to a stop. Lexa almost crashes into her backside and holds her hands forward to steady herself. Clarke nudges her chin and gives a bittersweet smile. Lexa catches on before she can speak; a deep howl resonates through the building.

“Atticus,” Lexa sighs, relieved. She grabs Clarke’s hand and tugs her forward, knocking the girl from her thoughts.

The hallways opens up into a large lobby, covered in animal posters. A man at the front desk glances up and looks only slightly surprised to see two disheveled women rushing in a full 30 seconds after the SPCA opened.

“How can I help you?” he asks, pushing a thick pair of spectacles further onto his nose.

Clarke looks extremely overcome with emotion, now that she’s finally faced with the shelter, so Lexa squeezes her hand and clears her throat. “We’re looking for a dog we believe is in your custody. His name’s Atticus-“

“Oh, thank god,” he breathes out before she can finish. “Is he big and loud?”

“Extremely,” Clarke pipes up, a hint of a smile on her face.

The man looks absolutely ecstatic, calling behind him through an open doorway. “Shelby! Get in here, Howler’s owners are here!”

Lexa bites back a grin at Atti’s nickname and doesn’t correct him by saying only own of them is the owner. Instead, she follows the man when he gestures to the door on his right. A woman with greying hair and a kind smile pokes her head around a corner. Lexa notices Clarke twisting her hands nervously and tugs the blonde closer.  
“Hey folks, I’m Shelby!” the woman states in a thick southern accent. Clarke shuffles her feet impatiently.

“Howle- Your pup’s right this way.”

Lexa hears a rattling of metal and a louder howl as they swing open yet another door.

Clarke breaks from her side and darts forward to a cage in the center of the room. A looming mass inside perks his ears up. Atticus's fur looks dirty but his tail wags furiously as he jumps onto the cage door.

“Beautiful dog,” the man, who introduced himself as Dan, says. His lips are turned up in a smile as he watched Clarke reunite with her dog. “However, he was.. Difficult. He never stopped howling, hence the name. No one was interested, but I suppose that’s a good thing now.”

Lexa can only nod, muttering an “excuse me” as she makes her way towards Clarke. The blonde has finally opened the gate and Atticus rushes out, tackling his owner. Clarke just laughs and burrows her face in his neck. Lexa approaches at Atticus turns his gaze to her. She kneels beside Clarke, wrapping her arm around the blonde and burying another in Atticus’s fur.

“Now let’s go home?” Lexa asks, and Clarke nods into her dog’s chest.

* * *

 

 

Lexa struggles to dig into her purse with one arm while bearing the brunt of Clarke’s weight in her arms.

“Atti, no,” she mutters softly at the dog pushing against her hand. He wasn’t making this any easier, but she couldn’t blame his excitement. She felt the same.

Lexa finally finds her keys and fumbles with the keyhole for several seconds and pushes inside. Her loft is filled with gorgeous morning light but all she wants is darkness and several hours of sleep.

Clarke stumbles, legs collapsing beneath her. Lexa sighs and swings the girl into her arms, smiling softly when she immediately burrows into Lexa’s shirt. She deposits her onto the couch and kneels in front of her.

“Clarke. Hey, I think you should take a shower...”

“Don’t wanna,” she moans, shielding her face from the bright sunlight.

“Clarke, you really -“ Lexa stops abruptly when an idea hits her. While it makes her cheeks flush with embarrassment. “What about if I help?”

At this, Clarke actually lifts her head to stare at Lexa. Her eyes droop closed even as she manages a strained smirk and replies. “Kinky.”

Lexa snorts, rising to her feet. She needs to practice her restraint, because now is not the time.

Lexa leads Clarke into the bathroom, quietly accepts her protests at moving, and hoists her onto the sink. As Lexa moves away to turn on the shower, the blonde wraps her legs around her back and tugs closer. Lexa cannot breathe, not when it is Clarke smirking down at her while her heels press into her lower back.

“Control yourself, Miss Griffin,” Lexa manages, and it sounds steady enough even though her heart is going haywire. She moves away and takes a moment to quell the war taking place in her gut.

Even exhausted, Clarke is able to surprise her.

Lexa waits until the water is nearly perfect before calling over her shoulder, purposefully not turning around. “You may undress.”

A swish of fabric and then a muffled grunt follow, causing Lexa mild alarm. She keeps her back to Clarke, however, to respect her privacy. They have not worked out this thing between them yet, but she wants to veer on the safe side.

She feels a presence at her shoulder and gulps audibly as Clarke strides past her. Lexa’s face must be turning bright red because that’s a _lot_ of exposed skin.

_Who thought this was a good idea?_

Clarke coughs and waits until Lexa grudgingly meets her gaze. She smirks, obviously recognizing the effect, and nearly purrs. “You gonna join me?”

She is so, so screwed. Clarke makes nothing easy.

Lexa mechanically drops her clothes and follows Clarke into the shower, stepping under the steaming spray and dropping her head back. Thankfully, it is relatively large and let’s them stay a reasonable distance apart.

Unfortunately for Lexa’s stuttering heart, Clarke has no concept of personal space.

“I forgot you have abs,” Clarke remarks, and Lexa cracks open an eye to see the girl giving her a long once over. Lexa feels utterly exposed and wants to duck under a towel, but she is frozen in place as the blonde’s eyes roam. She is sure her skin is flushed red from head to toe at the attention, but hopes it will be excused as heat from the water.

“I’m only here because you’re ‘too tired to stand’”, she gruffly states, earning a small smile. Clarke steps closer, replacing Lexa under the stream of water. She winks before letting out a low moan of relief and slouching against the shower wall as the water cascades over her shoulders.

Yep, Lexa’s fucked.

She distracts herself by squeezing shampoo into her hand. Lexa maintains her eyes only on Clarke’s hair. She hesitates before coming closer, wanting to respect the girls space. Lexa takes a stall step forward, and through the space between she can feel the heat radiating off.

She lathers the soap into her hands and gently massages it into Clarke’s hair. The response is instantaneous - the girl signs, and then, to Lexa’s shock, leans back on Lexa.

“Clarke, will you please stand up?” Lexa is all too aware of Clarke’s smooth expanse of slippery skin, and the fact she is practically pressing against her. The girl groans before straightening her back and Lexa busies herself with scrubbing soap into Clarke’s long blonde curls. Her hair is matted but she works ouch each tangle carefully, muttering “sorry” when she yanks too hard. It takes what feels like hours until Lexa is satisfied.

She turns off the water and reaches up to grab the two waiting towels, handing one to Clarke before wrapping the other around herself. Lexa shivers stepping out of the steamy shower and holds a hand for Clarke to hold, worried about the slippery floor.

Clarke doesn’t release her hand, but Lexa is quite okay with that.

She holds up a loose t-shirt to Clarke, and the blond just yawns before stumbling forward. She slips it over her head and crawls into Lexa’s bed. She is too tired to argue, too overcome with exhaustion to remind the blonde she has a bed in the office. Deep down, she doesn’t want to be further than an arm’s reach away. She follows Clarke’s lead, sitting on the edge of the bed and swinging her legs onto the mattress. Lexa tugs the covers currently wrapped around the girl like a cocoon.

“Clarke, share.”

She grumbles and pokes her head out to glare. Her grip reluctantly loosens, allowing Lexa to burrow into the blankets. She glances over at Clarke and notices her closed eyes and even breathing. Lexa can’t resist dropping a swift kiss to the blonde’s forehead and relishes in the small smile she earns in return. They curve towards each other like parentheses, almost touching, and completely enamored by each other.

“Lexa?” Clarke, whom she assumed was fast asleep, breathes out quietly. The voice yanks her from a groggy dream state. She shifts closer on the pillow, her nose barely brushing Clarke’s.

“Mhm?”

“I have no intention of leaving; if you’ll have me.”

“Nothing would please me more.”

Both fall asleep within moments, small smiles gracing their lips and hands still tangled together between them.

* * *

 

When Lexa wakes up, the bed is empty. Her blood runs cold and she sits up quickly, head smacking the headboard. The sheets are rumpled and it looks like someone spent the night beside her, but Lexa wouldn’t put it past her mind to play tricks on her. Dread fills her and she wants to smash pottery.

_Was seeing Clarke just a dream?_

Lexa doesn’t know if she could handle that. But it had seemed so real, Clarke’s smile, the steady weight of her hand. She curses herself, curses her longing. Even if the events of the day before were real - she shouldn’t be surprised Clarke decided to leave in the end. It was what she expected all along, really. It didn’t hurt any less.

The door swings open and a familiar blonde appears, precariously holding two mugs. Lexa can’t breathe.

“Good, you’re up! Took you long - Lexa?” her tone goes from teasing to worried in the blink of an eye. Clarke deposits the coffee on the nightstand and walks to Lexa’s side.

Lexa knows she’s staring, but her stomach churns with anxiety and relief and something else. Clarke awkwardly bends down so her face is level with Lexa’s, and she brings a hand to rest on her shoulder. The weight feels real, but Lexa is cautious, this time. She can’t believe this - happiness is fleeting, and this is likely just another dream.

A small part of her whispers that Clarke is real, flesh and blood, but Lexa pushes the sliver of hope aside. It would be too easy to fall into the blonde’s arms, but she doubts she would survive if she was dreaming.

Clarke is watching with confusion and concern but Lexa closes her eyes, turns her head away. The loss of contact pains her and she wants to cry out.

She waits for Clarke to speak, but the blonde says nothing. Eventually Lexa raises her head and stares at her forehead instead of meeting piercing blue eyes. She knows that would overwhelm her.

“I thought you left,” she whispers, and Clarke has to lean closer to hear. As soon as she registers the words, her eyes go wide with surprise and she lets out a small laugh. The sound drives knives through Lexa’s heart; she scoots back on the bed, towards the middle, holding the blanket over her chest.

Clarke immediately realizes her mistake and sits on the bed, arm reaching for Lexa. “I didn’t mean it like that. I just,” she shakes her head, eyes soft and gentle. Her gaze flickers over Lexa and she feels absolutely exposed. “Of course I didn’t leave.”

Lexa snorts, trying to ignore the way Clarke’s words ignite in her chest. If her heart beats any faster she wouldn’t survive. But Lexa doesn’t let a hint of her inner turmoil show when she replies. Her voice is clipped and steely and if it affects Clarke, the blonde doesn’t show it. “Why not? You should have.”

Instead of replying, Clarke leans forward and places a hand on Lexa’s thigh. She feels branded, burned, and cannot look away. Clarke waits patiently until Lexa meets her gaze and feels naked under the intensity. It is an unusual feeling for her to have. Lexa is a leader and doesn’t bend - not to anyone, except Clarke.

“Oh, Lexa. When will you learn,” she says, bringing her face closer. Clarke’s breath smells like mint and coffee and her hair is all over the place. Lexa doubts she’s in any better condition. “I’m happy right where I am.”

It is Lexa who closes the gap between them; Lexa who, at those words, feels a defensive wall inside her crumble. Her restraint is pulled back and her nagging sense of fear falls on deaf ears. She doesn’t kiss Clarke (they have time for that) but wraps her arms around the blonde’s back. Clarke tucks her face into Lexa’s shoulder and hugs back just as fiercely. They can feel each other’s heartbeat, pounding in sync, through their thin nightshirts. It is more intimate than anything Lexa has experienced since Costia; Clarke matters to her, so much. For the first time she isn’t unsure about anything.

The blonde returns the embrace with renewed energy and Lexa finds herself falling. Her hands scrabble helplessly on Clarke’s shoulders as her head hits the pillow below. Clarke stares down at her, morning light from the window turning her hair gold. She is breathtaking and Lexa struggles to regulate her heartbeat.

At least Clarke has medical training if she suddenly keels over from the girl’s beauty.

Clarke flops onto the mattress beside Lexa, turning their faces together. She smirks before speaking. “Turn on your side.”

Lexa blinks once, confused with this latest development. She grumbles but does as told, flipping over and facing away from Clarke. She waits, anticipation rising.

Clarke’s breath is in her ear and Lexa shivers, causing the blonde to chuckle. Suddenly, she feels pressure covering her entire backside and smells lavender. Another set of feet slide between her rigid toes and wiggle. Lexa laughs, breathlessly, when she realizes Clarke’s feet don’t reach the bottom of her own, but that doesn’t stop her. An arm snakes around Lexa’s waist, resting on her hip and curling beside her stomach. Lexa’s abs quiver on their own accord because Clarke is here and real and surrounding her completely.

“Relax,” Clarke huffs against her neck.

“I am relaxed,” Lexa replies stiffly. Her argument must not be very convincing because knows Clarke is rolling her eyes.

Because of her height, Clarke’s leg is wedged between Lexa’s thigh instead of her feet. Lexa is very glad she’s not facing the blonde, because her face is likely contorted with trying to keep still. The small exhales against her neck are not helping the situation either, but Lexa won’t be the first one to break.

“Convinced I’m real now?”

Lexa thinks she’s forgotten how to speak. She nods in reply and keeps her gaze firmly on the wall in front of her. Lexa is so focused on the exposed brick covering her bedroom that at first, she doesn’t notice Clarke’s hands creeping up from her stomach. When she does, Lexa flinches reflexively, and the motion stops abruptly. The hand drops and she wants to complain at the loss.

“Sorry, are you -“ Now it’s Clarke’s turn to sound breathless and Lexa would do anything to see her expression. She knows what is being asked. Lexa is aware of her past intimacy issues; it stemmed from being with a single individual growing up, and having her ripped away. But Lexa has grown to love Clarke, her competitive fearlessness, and she feels nothing but certainty. Lexa nods and knows the blonde can feel the jolt of her head.

Clarke’s hand appears again, as if it never left, and slowly lifts Lexa’s shirt. The open window blows cool air against her exposed skin and Lexa sighs, pushing back against the blonde. She isn’t afraid and Clarke is skilled.

“Is this okay?” Clarke repeats, teeth nibbling her ear. Lexa doubts she could pull away from the girl if she wanted to.

“Perfect,” she replies, jerking her hips backwards so that her ass collides with the girls crotch. Clarke hisses and the grip on her ear tightens. Lexa grins, knowing two can play at this game.

They won’t do everything, not yet. They have time.

 

Some nondescript amount of time later, Lexa wakes up alone for the second time that day. She feels miraculously less tired now and climbs out of bed, stomping her way to the living room. She pauses in the archway, a grin spreading across her face.

Clarke twirls around the kitchen and doesn’t look up to see Lexa. In one hand she holds a dirty paintbrush and spins circles around Atticus, singing to music blaring from Lexa’s iPad in a raspy morning voice. The song is unfamiliar, but anyway, she concentrates on Clarke more. A easel and canvas is set up, but it’s facing away from Lexa.

 _‘This is a place where I don't feel alone,_  
_This is a place where I feel at home.’_

She takes a step forward and the floorboard creaks (she momentarily forgot about this one, thanks to Clarke) causing the blonde to whirl. Atticus shakes his entire body and bounds over, nails skittering on the hardwood floor. Clarke’s eyes light up and she dashes towards Lexa, her socked feet sliding everywhere.

Lexa feels a flash of worry at her clumsiness and reaches out to grasp her, holding her in place. The blonde just sighs, her arm wrapping around Lexa’s, and leads her into the kitchen. Lexa follows obediently and tries to remain steady as Atticus meanders around her feet.

 _‘By the cracks of the skin I climbed to the top_  
_I climbed the tree to see the world’_

Clarke points at the canvas. Lexa wraps her arms around Clarke from behind and rests her head on top of the girls’. Then, she glances over at the picture, and her breath snags in her throat.

It’s a grassy meadow, similar to Crissy Fields. Rolling hills of green seem to stretch on for miles, only stopping by the descending blue sky. The day is clear, save for a few wisps of puffy clouds, and the sun shines brilliantly over the giant oak tree in the center of the painting. It’s branches extend to each corner, covering the frame with gnarled tendrils. Several clumps of dark green leaves hang high in the tree, but the main focus is on the two figures crouching together on a low hanging limb.

 _‘When the gusts came around to blow me down_  
_Held on as tightly as you held onto me’_

A lioness, regal, eyes a familiar shade of blue and covered in golden fur. She takes a protective stance, her flank pressing against the russet wolf beside it. A gust of wind presses her tawny ears back and ruffles her dark pelt. The lioness stands ferociously above, and the wolfs’ gaze is trained on her. Lexa doesn’t need to look closer to recognize her intelligent green eyes.

“You’re not such a lone wolf after all,” Clarke whispers. Lexa doesn’t bother to wipe her tears before spinning the girl around to embrace her, tangling her hands in her golden hair. Lexa knows, with more certainty than anything in her life, that Clarke is right.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for reading!! It's been amazing writing this, especially because of all the feedback I've received. I'd like to take a moment to thank the fantastic haelstorm! She's worked on this with me every step of the way and I honestly doubt I would be finishing this without her support. 
> 
> Come chat with me @ [clarkelionheart](http://clarkelionheart.tumblr.com/)! I'm always down to talk, about this fic or anything else!
> 
> I plan on posting an epilogue in the near future, so keep on the lookout for that! Feedback is always appreciated.


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